In the Line of Fire
by DirtyFox2
Summary: A police officer is shot and Team One scrambles to bring the man responsible into custody. Ed contends with Sam, who struggles with an overwhelming urge for vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Well the previous piece was pretty well-liked so I figured I would continue with another. Hopefully everyone enjoys it. Obviously I don't own any of the characters of Flashpoint. This particular piece takes place shortly after Raf has joined the team. _

The helicopter roared over the top of the forest's canopy. Looking out Sam could see all the soldier pines, red pines, hickories, and maple trees reaching up to the sky as if the branches were trying to pull the helicopter down. He sat on the right side of the rotary wing aircraft, leaning out over the ocean of green and looking for the subject. Occasionally he would glance through the optic upon his Diemaco C8 Carbine. The Trijicon TA31 Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight allowed for a 4x magnification enabling Sam to see greater detail when open patches in the thick boughs above the forest floor appeared.

"You see anything?" Officer Rafik Rousseau asked from the opposite side of the helicopter. He was armed similarly to Sam and would look through his own ACOG from time to time.

"No. Nothing," Sam responded simply. The two had to shout in order to communicate over the loud sound of the rotor wash. "We need to find this guy." Sam was angry; he wanted to locate the man who had been responsible for what had happened. He couldn't believe they'd let him get away earlier and Sam damn sure wasn't going to let him escape in this forest.

"We're in pursuit on foot," Ed Lane chimed in over the radio. He swiftly made his way over the foliage and rocks obstructing his path, followed closely by Spike Scarlatti. They were sprinting fast, hot on the heels of their subject who had somehow eluded them. "What do you have on the mike, Spike?"

Spike slowed his pace for a moment and raised his parabolic microphone once again. He listened intently into the headphones as he scanned the area to their direct front. He could hear the sounds of wildlife mingling with noise from a nearby stream. Then he heard, the unmistakable sound of footsteps hastening over fallen leaves. He could hear the huffing and puffing emanating from the subject's tired lungs. "We're on him. He's up ahead."

"Got it," Ed acknowledged. The duo took off again, still heading north in hot pursuit behind their subject—a man that had shot a cop. "Sam, subject is moving north approximately eighty to one hundred meters to our direct front. Have the bird put you on the deck ahead of him, cut him off."

"Copy that," Sam responded through his throat microphone. He glanced over at Raf and made a hand signal indicating it was time for them to rappel down into the forest itself. Raf nodded and started to ready his harness. The helicopter surged over more treetops until it found a suitable insertion point. It was a wide clearing well ahead of the path the subject was using. Sam readied himself, dangling his armor-clad body over the helicopter's skid. "You ready?" he asked Raf.

Raf nodded, the excitement and anticipation was palpable to him. He could feel the cool breeze that flowed in beneath the downdraft created by the rotors. It mingled there with the hot air resonating from the helicopters powerful engine. It felt good against his sweat-stained skin. He leaned back readying himself for the descent, his first live rappel from a helicopter.

Sam was an old hand when it came to insertion methods like this. He'd learn the techniques in the Army and perfected them as a member of Canada's elite Tier One Special Operations unit—Joint Task Force 2. "Ed, we're going in."

Ed was still running, his Remington 700 SPS clutched tightly in gloved hands. His helmet bobbed over his eyes for a moment, forcing him to adjust how it sat, but it did not hinder his progress. He heard Sam inform him that he and Raf were about to insert ahead of the subject. With any luck they would be able to cut him off and prevent his escape. But there was a serious concern that lingered in Ed's mind. "Good to go, Sam. Are you with me on this?" he asked, insinuating something to the younger officer.

Sam heard the question, but wasn't sure if he was willing to answer. He paused for a moment in thought. His eyes were on Raf who still hung on the opposite side of the helicopter's fuselage, ready to rappel into the forest below. "I'm with you," Sam finally said with reluctance.

"Good," Ed responded between gusts of air. But he wasn't sure if he could believe it. Sam was certainly the professional, but his mood was high on this one and no doubt his blood was boiling after what the subject had done. The last thing Ed or any of them needed was for Sam to be a little fast on the trigger if he found the subject. But Ed had to trust his officer, even if his recent faith had been shaken by another—someone much closer to Ed.

"Let's go," Sam commanded with a nod. He leapt backward, letting gravity carry him down toward the ground which rushed up at him. The speed was only arrested by Sam's control on the rope and the gear that accompanied his harness.

Raf was off the skid a moment after and before he knew it he was on the ground just feet away from Sam. He unhooked himself from his harness, noticing Sam do the same. They moved fast, trading duties as they went. Security was important, they had an active shooter out there—a man that had already killed a cop and they needed to protect themselves against the threat. While Sam packed up his harness Raf held security, scanning into the deep, shady forest to their south. They knew the subject would be coming from that direction, but they weren't sure exactly where he'd be.

Sam finished up and took up his carbine, allowing Raf to pack his own gear away. "Hurry up. We need to move," Sam ordered impatiently.

Raf packed away his gear with great haste, anxious to please and fearful of showing himself as incompetent. Once his harness was packed he threw his backpack on and adjusted the chin strap on his helmet. "Ready," he said, signaling Sam with a thumbs up.

Sam picked himself up from the kneeling position and advanced south hoping to find the shooter soon. He hoped to be the first one to lay eyes on the man. He yearned to do something about what the subject had done, to pay him back for the life he had taken. His eyes searched the tree line south of them keenly. His weapon was up and held tightly in his shoulder and he moved only as fast as he had to. He wanted to be able to effectively engage the subject if he spotted him.

Raf was close behind, taking note of Sam's intensity and the way he carried himself. He could see the man was back in the skin of a soldier, feeling utterly at home amidst the shade provided by the ample boughs overhead. He pitied the men that must have faced this warrior in Afghanistan and felt an inkling of concern for the subject now.

"Okay, Spike, where is this guy?" Ed questioned as the trio of them still advanced. They had not laid eyes on the subject and there was a real fear that he might have escaped them again. Ed's eyes were peering through the Mark 4 MR/T Leupold scope mounted on his rifle. Despite the intense magnification it provided he still couldn't see the subject. He had to catch him before he escaped. He had to find him before Sam did.

"I'm not hearing anything," Spike explained, holding up the parabolic microphone once again. The team had stopped to allow for more accurate hearing from the microphone. Only the sound of birds chirping and the gentle breeze flowing through the branches above could be heard.

Before another word could be uttered the all too familiar snap and crack of bullets impacting nearby eviscerated the momentary calm. dove for cover behind nearby trees while Ed continued to scan the area even as more rounds slapped the rock he was using to prop his rifle up. "No joy, I can't see him," Ed announced. "Sam, we're taking fire. Subject is somewhere to our north."

More rounds smashed into the rocks and brush around them. The subject was well-equipped with a high power semi-automatic rifle. The stolen weapon was a restricted firearm—a Windham Weaponry SRC-CAN carbine. The weapon was very similar to the Diemaco C8 Carbine used by the SRU and fired the same 5.56mm round. The round itself was used by the Canadian military and all NATO members. It was a high velocity projectile that would yaw and tumble upon impact causing dramatic wounds. Because of its penetration capabilities it made Team One's body armor practically useless.

Spike's ears rang as she squirmed his way behind a sizable tree trunk. He leaned out from behind the shelter it provided and scanned the area, his eyes fixed behind the open sights of his MPA3 submachine gun—feeling woefully underequipped. It was difficult to see with any real detail and he wished he had something more suitable for the terrain. An ACOG or a scope would help significantly. Another burst of gunfire crashed into the tree trunk next to him, causing him to reel back behind cover, frustrated with his inability to find the shooter.

Sam and Raf maneuvered their way down a rocky outcropping that sloped down toward a meandering creek. They could hear the gunfire and knew the subject was firing on the team. The immediate importance of finding him was not lost on either of them and they redoubled their strength and effort, increasing the speed at which they moved.

As they advanced the shots sounded more pronounced—they were getting closer and anxious excitement welled up inside Sam's body. He could feel the adrenaline take over and any sense of fatigue or muscle ache evaporated with it. But he was a skilled veteran, well-attuned to the effects of the adrenaline. He picked his way through some brush and rocks carefully, knowing full well the subject was not far ahead. Another report from his rifle fire was indicative of that.

Raf on the other hand felt more nervous than anything. He wanted to get up there and do what he had to do to support Team One, but this situation was insane. He felt like he was in a war. The subject had a high powered rifle and was shooting at the rest of his team. This wasn't a hot call, this was a firefight. He was torn from his thoughts as he came up on Sam who was hunched over a rock, aiming into his gun sight. Raf knelt down beside him.

"I've got him," Sam reported quietly. "I've got the solution." He trained the reticule of his ACOG on the head the subject who was still firing wildly in the direction of his team. He was oblivious to Sam and Raf's presence. The subject was hunkered down behind some rocks and nearby brambles. He would peak out, fire at the rest of Team One, then get behind cover before they could spot him.

Sam flicked his rifle off safe and rested his finger on the trigger. "Ed, permission to fire."


	2. Chapter 2

**Fourteen Hours Earlier…**

It was another long strenuous work week for David Resnick—capping off somewhere well above forty hours in total. Today had stretched beyond eight hours and the work had been extensive. It was past seven o'clock already. But overtime was good and David needed the money. He'd been lucky to get a job after his release from prison and since he and Rachel were starting a new life he'd need the money. The thought of his girlfriend made him crack a wary smile as he pulled into the driveway of the home they shared. It was simple and quaint and in serious need of refurbishment, but that was okay because David was learning the construction business and how to be a handyman and it was something they could do together.

He stepped out of his car and casually made his way up to the front door, glad to be home and excited for the prospect of a home cooked meal. He realized it was high time to take Rachel out to dinner. Money may have been scarce, but after everything she had put up with regarding David she earned the right to be treated well. She had stayed with him despite all his shortcomings, saw the good in him that no one else seemed to recognize and was helping him rebuild his life. She was a priceless part of his life—a woman he would truly do anything for.

He walked inside, tossing his jacket on the coat rack beside the door. "Rachel?" his voice resonated through the house. "Hell of a day today, really looking forward to your lasagna." But he couldn't smell the lasagna, or anything for that matter—which was odd enough. She was always cooking when he came home.

"Rachel?" he asked the house again as he stepped into the den on his way to the kitchen.

He was startled then by a figure stepping out from the dimly lit kitchen. The man's stature was significant enough to cause concern for David; he took a step back and regarded the brute with caution. He was dressed in a loose fitting suit, but wore no tie. His head was shaved and he had piercing brown eyes, vacant of any emotion. "Who the hell are you?" he asked in a shaky voice. "Where's Rachel?

"Let's not discuss Rachel right now, David," a familiar voice suddenly spoke up from behind.

David whirled around to see a man he immediately recognized. He was dressed even more richly than the thug who had come from the kitchen. His suit was not merely purchased off the rack, but tailored specifically for its wearer. His well-salted black hair was combed slickly back and he approached David in a friendly manner, despite the fact that he was an intruder.

"What do you want?" David demanded.

"I want to talk business with you," the man insisted. He took a seat in the den and casually eased back into a comfortable position. He waved for David to sit down across from him, when David resisted the idea of relaxing with Rachel's condition unknown the thug pressed him to obey the offer. David reluctantly sat down near the suit-clad individual who had addressed him. "It's been a long time. I want you to understand that I appreciate what you did and I'm here to offer you an opportunity."

"I'm not interested. Where is Rachel?" David seethed.

The man sighed as if it was a response that he expected. "David, Rachel is fine but she won't be if you insist on this rude behavior." He glanced at the thug that towered above them both. David nervously glanced at the bald man.

"I gave everything to you. I took the hit, I did the time, I didn't say anything to the cops," David insisted.

"I know. And I am immensely thankful for that—proud of you even," the man expressed with a smile. He adjusted himself on the chair and crossed his leg over the other. "Unfortunately the economy has fallen on harsh times, profits are down and we're struggling."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I should think it's quite obvious," the man remarked, as if David's question confused him. "You were one of my best. Extensive networks, great people skills, good at reaching out to people and getting them involved with our… product. When you left we felt it. We lost your connections, lost your consumers and our profit margin suffered," the man elaborated like the CPA of same major corporation."

"I didn't leave—I was arrested. I went to prison," David retorted with some vehemence.

"Yes, shameful business really. But be that as it may I'd like to offer you employment in the organization you helped build. We need you, David," the man explained with a soft tone. It was a sharp contrast to the man David knew him to be. He was violent, ruthless, and had a short temper in most instances. He fancied himself a businessman and did a great deal to cultivate that personage.

"I'm not interested," David maintained.

"I don't like the sound of that, David," the man said, rising to his feet. He buttoned the top button on his two-button suit jacket then ran a hand through his slicked back hair. "Rachel wouldn't like the sound of that either. Not in her present capacity anyway."

"Where is she?" David demanded, rising to his feet. His posture was threatening, until the thug stepped in to ensure no harm came to his boss.

"She's safe for now," the man assured him. "That won't change unless you decide not to go back to work for me. Give it a day or two to think about it." The man offered the same antagonistic smile that David had remembered. There was a threat behind that smile and David recognized it instantly. The thug escorted the man to the front door where he turned one last time to urge David to see things his way with one last smile. Then he was gone.

David was frantic when they left. He paced back and forth inside the den, and then went to the kitchen as if he would still find Rachel there. But she was gone, he knew that, but he didn't want to believe it. Immense guilt rose within him and he realized it was his fault she was caught in the middle of this mess. They had promised full disclosure between one another, so she was well-aware of his past and the things he'd been through. She knew why he got arrested and despite it all she didn't leave him.

He began to hyperventilate as the thought of her being harmed surfaced in his mind. He scratched nervously at his scalp and gnawed at his fingernails, an old habit that refused to die. He yanked his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Rachel's number just in case, but it went straight to voice mail. He cursed to himself and ran to his bedroom. He shuffled inside and drew open his closet door, inside he rifled through all of his clothing and garments, casting aside his and Rachel's alike in search for his old gun. Then he remembered his gun was gone- taken by the police after he was arrested. He panicked. He was useless; hopeless against the threat to the woman he loved.

He had to do something. He had to get Rachel back. He couldn't go to the police, but he couldn't ignore the situation either. This bastard would hurt her, he knew that he would. But David couldn't go back to working for him either. It would break the promise he made to Rachel and in turn that would break her heart. He promised himself too—he'd never be victimized or forced to something against his will ever again. He would act. He had to act.

As he shuffled through an assortment of items in his kitchen and den looking for anything that might give him an idea he came across an advertisement in the Toronto Sun. It was for an outdoors shop—a place that sold guns. He could use guns. He just had to get them. He didn't have the money to buy them and the store would probably be closed this late anyway, but it didn't matter. He had no choice. He'd steal them if he had to. And then it donned on him and he knew exactly what he had to do and where he had to go.

He grabbed his keys and made his way for the car. His destination? Freddie Brathwaite's Outdoor Supply.


	3. Chapter 3

"Honestly, Sam, I think I'm more of a steak and potatoes kind of gal," Jules admitted awkwardly.

"Okay… okay, but I thought this would be a nice change of pace. It's been a long week and I thought you'd like it," Sam responded, feeling disappointed.

"No I do and I really appreciate you taking the time to make reservations and everything—it's just this place is really expensive," she remarked.

"Don't worry about that."

"Sam, you're not paying for me," she insisted.

"It's a date," he pointed out unnecessarily. The two of them were both sitting in a finely decorated restaurant—it was the swanky sort of place you always had to make reservations for on a Friday night. If you didn't dress to impress they wouldn't let you through the door. Easy-going jazz played in the background over the muted sound of other couple's conversations.

Sam was wearing a button-up white shirt and a gray sports coat. Jules on the other hand was looking ravishing, at least in his mind, wearing a black dress that clung to her body in all the right places. She brushed some of her hair back, revealing a bare shoulder that was enough to excite Sam.

Truth be told they'd both been disappointed by their meal. Sam had read reviews of the place in the Sun and wanted to treat Jules to something nice. They were still hiding their relationship from the rest of the team and whenever they appeared in public they were taking a risk—especially in a place like this. But Toronto was a big city and they were always careful. The food, however, was that type of gourmet dining that came out in multiple stages and each stage never offered enough food to sate the hunger they both felt after a long's day work. Indeed, the stuff looked more like artwork than something you were supposed to eat.

"You know what, you're right—this was a mistake," he admitted. He set his napkin on the table and ruefully shook his head. "We should have gone to Norm's." He was referring to a casual restaurant that had seemingly perfected the art the grill.

"No it wasn't a mistake. We got to spend some time together," Jules said. "It's just not our style is all."

Sam nodded then reached for his wine glass. At least they had alcohol.

…**..**

"No, you definitely suck," Spike half-shouted into his headset. "Yes, you do. That's why your ratio sucks." The sound of his television set was almost too loud to endure for a normal person, but Spike wasn't normal. It was a good thing he lived in the basement; otherwise his mother would likely pull her hair out at the sound of gunfire and explosions.

Spike waited anxiously to respawn, his leg bounced up and down in anticipation. "Okay, well I don't care if you're twelve years old. If you team kill me again I'll come to your house and arrest you." His character spawned once more and he sprinted forward armed with an M4 carbine—the American version of the carbine his team used in real life. His face contorted as he listened to the chatter in his headset. "Because I'm a police officer, that's why."

The television shook and the deep, booming sound from the explosions on the screen reverberated throughout the basement thanks to the ample sound system and amplifier Spike had installed. He leaned over and scooped up a slice of pizza after he hopped into the turret of a tank. He downed some Mountain Dew to wash down the pepperoni and extra cheese topping he so adored. "Yeah I am a cop. Don't argue with me, kid."

He worked the joystick and buttons on his controller as if it were second nature—in fact it was almost like working the control for Baby Cakes, the Remotec Andros F6B explosives ordnance disposal robot developed by Northrop Grumman, that he used during bomb calls. "Who cares if it's Friday night? Kid, you're too young to be talking about getting lucky with the ladies. No, no I am not a loser."

Suddenly his tank exploded on screen, leaving spike to wait for another respawn. He shook his head and mumbled a curse just as he finished his third slice of pizza. He sat back for a moment and stared at the TV screen then down at his half-eaten pizza. He frowned for a moment. Was he a loser?

_Naaaaaaaaaah._

…**..**

"I don't know about this, Greg," Ed Lane said doubtfully, his eyes looked to the sloping, curved glass building they were preparing to make entry on. The structure had that new-age sort of style to it, despite being built in the 1980s. A manicured lawn surrounded by spruce trees and well-lit by nearby street lights lent an almost romantic atmosphere to the situation.

"Eddie, we don't have a choice," Sergeant Gregory Parker insisted seriously. His eyes met with Ed's and could see the uncertainty there. It was his job as a friend and mentor to banish that uncertainty and get Ed inside.

"But this going to take a long time," Ed groused. He scratched at the back of his bald head.

"It's what they want; we don't have a choice, buddy. Look at them," Parker's eyes led back in the direction of the building where two figures stood waiting impatiently amongst a throng of people filing toward the building. Their own demeanor indicated agitation as they shifted their weight and looked at the two police expectantly.

Ed let out an exasperated sigh.

"I feel your pain, but c'mon. It's the Toronto Symphony Orchestra," Parker said, trying to sound positive. In truth he was very excited by the opportunity, provided by his new girlfriend Marina, who had gotten her hands on a set of four tickets. Ed wasn't particularly interested in going, but when Sophie found out he didn't have much say in the matter. "We could use a little culture."

Ed shook his head; his hands were placed firmly in the pockets of the navy blue suit he was wearing. He looked like a disgruntled child being forced to go to church. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You want to be here," Ed accused.

"Eddie," Greg began frankly, taking up a non-threatening posture. "What can I say? I am a patron of the arts."

"All I'm saying is music without a guitar, or some bass and a little bit of drums is a bit soft for me," Ed explained as he reluctantly walked toward their two beautifully dressed dates. "You remember when I said I had tickets to Foreigner? Where were you then? What's wrong with Jukebox Hero?" His hands were still pressed tightly into his pockets as if that was his only form of protest at this point.

Sergeant Greg Parker smiled broadly as his best friend approached. He slapped him on the back and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Eddie my friend," he started to say. "Just have an open mind."

The two were soon joined by their dates and the four of them walked excitedly toward the Roy Thompson Concert Hall for a night of fun and a chance to be together. Except for Ed. Ed was not excited.

…**..**

"I'll take a vodka and water, please," Rafik Rousseau said casually, easing himself onto a bar stool in the dimly lit jazz bar. He'd just finished his set, opting to play a melodic tune on his own tonight. He shied away from singing, preferring a tone more solemn. He selected a piece by Duke Ellington called Solitude and felt it was a fitting tribute for a young girl that had died earlier in the week. He felt that because they were unable to save her—it was the least he could do.

The Strategic Response Unit was an eye-opener. It was the place all good, competitive police officers wanted to end up. Hundreds tried out every time a spot came open on one of the team and more often than not they stayed on the team for life. Raf wanted nothing more than to be a part of that elite unit, a place he could really have an impact on the daily lives of the people of Toronto. But it had been a rude awakening. Many days were harsh and Raf struggled with the choices they'd made thus far. And every life that couldn't be saved was its own tragedy. Raf was new to the team, but he learned quickly. Failure in the SRU stayed with you.

The bartender delivered Raf his drink and the young officer slid his credit card forward—opting to open a tab. He rested his elbows on the bar and leaned forward casually. He glanced over just in time to notice a young woman with blonde hair dressed in a skimpy dress typical of the club scene to slide up beside him. "I heard you play up there—it was beautiful," she commended on his performance while her brown eyes sized Raf's physique up.

"I appreciate that," Raf said in earnest, paying little attention to the young woman.

The lack of attention seemed to entice her more as she stepped forward. She reached out and placed a hand on the bar next to Raf's. "Well can I buy you a drink?" she offered.

"Got one," Raf responded, brandishing his half-finished vodka and water. It wasn't as if Raf didn't want to talk to her, he wouldn't have any qualms about a beautiful young lady chatting him up, but this was a technique he often employed to draw their interest.

She frowned. "I could get you another," she offered.

Raf leaned back, his face muddled in apparent thought. Then he presented a pearly white smile. "Okay. Pull up a chair."

Just as she took her seat another girl similarly dressed appeared beside her. "Oh this is my friend Veronica, she's visiting from California."

Raf glanced at the bartender who was shaking his head with disbelief while cleaning a glass. Raf shot him a wink. "Nice to meet you Veronica."

…**..**

The song, with its haunting melodies and sharp, virtuosic piano rhythms gripped Sergeant Parker. He watched with quiet amazement high above the stage where the Toronto Symphony Orchestra played Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 4 in G Minor.

A quick glance to his right demonstrated that Marina shared his love for the sounds that rose in various crescendos, echoing throughout the music hall. He smiled at her, but she was engrossed by the performance. To his left, however, was Ed Lane who sat slumped in his chair with one elbow on his arm rest, propping up his sagging head. His eyes were slitted as he staved off slumber.

Greg delivered a sharp elbow to Ed's shoulder, startling him. His friend collected himself and stretched out like a cat that'd been sleeping in the sun for hours. Ed looked to Sophie who smiled at him, glad for the opportunity to enjoy the rich performance on display and for a chance to spend some time with her husband—an opportunity that was too scant not to love. He felt guilty at that very moment for his lack of interest and returned her smile with one of his own. He reached over and grasped her hand, their fingers intertwined and he set his eyes on the stage below—he committed himself as an audience member for Sophie's sake.

Greg felt his breast pocket vibrating and immediately realized it was the cell phone in his jacket. He clandestinely removed it and checked the caller ID. Marina glanced at him and then the phone; he had a reluctant look on his face. The ID read "_Strategic Response_", the listing he put for the SRU's operator.

He plugged one ear and bent forward as he answered the phone. "Yeah?" he hissed into the phone. Ed looked at him with a peculiar glimpse. "You have to speak up."

Ed watched as Greg nodded on his phone just as the Concerto rose to its most prominent part, blasting the interior of the concert hall with immensely powerful tones making it all the more difficult for Greg to hear the phone. Whatever was being said, Greg Parker did not seem to be enjoying it.

Greg nodded one last time and then hung up the phone and placed it back in his jacket. He leaned over and whispered to Marina who seemed utterly distraught by the news he delivered. Then he turned to Ed who perked up with a perceptible level of anticipation. "We have to go," Parker exclaimed grudgingly.

Ed nodded with feigned remorse. "That's too bad."


	4. Chapter 4

"Long time no see, Kira," Spike greeted as he stepped inside the SRU facility feeling particularly spunky after a third can of Mountain Dew. He leaned on a casually placed elbow that rested up the dispatcher's desk.

"I know- working graveyard is terrible. I'd much rather be back on day shift with you guys," the blonde-haired, blue-eyed officer lamented. Kira Marlowe had acted as a dispatcher on dozens of calls for Team One and Team Three but was moved to the graveyard shift and ended up supporting Team Two and Team Four more often. As a result Spike and the other members of Team One rarely saw her anymore.

"So what's up? Why the recall?" Spike asked curiously. The team had finished their day without much occasion. It was a quiet Friday which had been a relief after a decidedly hectic and emotionally draining week.

"Two and Four are both out and there's a barricaded subject in a sporting goods store. Looks like a burglary gone badly," Kira explained.

"Spike, let's go," Officer Scarlatti heard Ed Lane's voice call out to him. He looked over to see the team leader motioning for him to get his butt in the locker room.

"Duty calls," Spike told Kira, wiggling his eye brows. "See ya."

"Be safe out there."

"Always am," he replied with an errant wave as he jogged away. Kira doubted that very much. Spike was well-known for taking risks, especially if bomb disposal was required. But guys like him were what made the SRU special.

The lights of their response vehicles brightly swirled about the dark city streets of Toronto and cast a blue and red whirlwind of light in every direction. The sirens on each vehicle blared into the late night sky. A few stars and a sliver of the moon peaked out from behind gray clouds that cascaded from horizon to horizon.

"All right team, listen up," Sergeant Parker began, adjusting himself in his seat. It was never comfortable sitting with his body armor on. He glanced over at Raf who was driving his Suburban. "We've got a 1033 at Freddie Brathwaite's Sporting Goods store, okay? A silent alarm was tripped during a midnight burglary. Two patrol officers dropped in on a male subject who opened fire on them. One officer was wounded and the other was forced to withdraw."

"Who was the officer?" Sam asked into his throat microphone. He was driving in the same vehicle as Jules.

"Constable Marcus Keisling," Sergeant Parker replied. "Status is unknown."

Jules saw the tension in Sam's expression as he shook his head and gripped the steering wheel more tightly. The reaction was almost instant and Jules knew immediately the name was familiar to Sam. He remained silent.

"You okay?" she asked him.

"I know Keisling," Sam said plainly, but Jules could tell he was stifling a flood of emotions. Sam Braddock could play the cool cucumber with people that didn't know him well, but Jules was more intimate with him than anyone in Ontario—he wasn't fooling her. "We were rack mates in basic training. He went infantry, I went special ops. He did two tours in Afghanistan." Keisling had been a Master Corporal in 3rd battalion, Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry.

Jules was quiet, not sure what solace she could offer. "I'm sorry, Sam," she tried, knowing it wouldn't be enough. If Sam had one weakness it was related to the service and anyone that served. That bond he shared with so many that had worn the uniform, even if they'd never met, often made him overly emotional and sometimes reckless.

"Don't be sorry for me," he bristled, shaking his head. "He's got a wife and three kids."

"Were you close?" Jules treaded softly, knowing she couldn't relate directly to how he felt at the moment. She couldn't understand the bond he shared with his fellow Afghanistan veteran. It was a bond not unlike the one she experienced with the other members of Team One and yet in many ways it was much stronger and transcended units and sometimes even nationality.

"Close enough to know he was the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off your back if you were freezing to death," Sam fumed. He gripped the steering wheel tightly. He struggled with this part of the job. "Now we're going to negotiate with this guy after he shot a cop and a veteran."

There was silence between the two of them, but Jules could feel the anger building within him. It pervaded within the confines of the vehicle like a dark aura that made the air inside seem heavy. She did not like this side of him, even if she could understand it. She could feel the aggression inside him with every turn of the wheel, or the way he braked and accelerated.

"Just calm down, Sam," she advised in a voice of kindness. She had to be that voice of reason for him. She knew what he was capable of and she also knew his judgment in such matters could easily be compromised. "We don't know the situation yet."

But he didn't reply. He continued on driving in the same manner as before and through the corner of her eye she could see him shaking his head in disappointment as a myriad of thoughts ran through his mind.

"Listen up team, we've got an active shooter inside the store, but no additional details," they heard Sergeant Parker's command voice over the radio. "Ed when we're on sight I want to establish eyes inside the store so we can gather more intel. With any luck we can put a face to our shooter."

"Copy," Ed replied immediately. "Spike, you're on the CCTVs. Jules I want you to get a perch if it's possible and provide over watch. Raf and Sam, you're with me—we'll formulate a direction action plan in case we need it."

"Roger that."

"Got it."

"We move quickly team," Sergeant Parker added. "Until we know more we have a wounded cop inside that is in dire need of medical attention."

The building in question was a two story sporting goods store located on the corner of Dufferin Street and Eversfield Road. The surrounding buildings were mainly made up of benign, old brick houses built very close to one another. The citizens in the neighborhood kept the area in good repair, lawns were well-manicured and houses were well-tended to. Spruce trees, poplars and elms darted up between the narrow alleys of the houses. To the north of the store across Eversfield road was the skeleton of a building still under construction accompanied by an adjacent empty lot surrounded by a black rod iron fence. Across Dufferin Street, directly east Brathwaite's, an assortment of small businesses including a martial arts academy, an auto repair shop, a fitness center and animal clinic sat empty after a long day of business. A small parking lot lined with trees in addition to a Mediterranean restaurant was located in the adjacent lot south of their target building.

The police on scene had already cordoned off the area in an effort to keep pedestrians back as well as to keep the subject hemmed in. The crowd was already growing in size—they jockeyed like temperamental animals behind the yellow police tape.

The three SRU vehicles rolled up in their signature convoy looking particularly intimidating in the only way that unmarked Suburbans could. They positioned their trucks along Dufferin Street blocking the sight of much of the crowd from the front of the store itself. The tactic served two purposes: provide cover for the crowd and the team while they assembled themselves for entry and obstructed the crowd and subject from seeing exactly what was happening on either side of the vehicles. The individual team members began to file out of the vehicles and prep their gear.

"Officer, get that crowd further back," Sergeant Parker ordered one of the struggling uniformed police constables. "We've got an active shooter inside—these people are way too close. Get them back." The officer nodded and attempted to oblige the Sergeant by corralling the anxious civilians.

"All right, what have we got?" Parker questioned loudly to the assembled police.

"Sergeant," a female officer greeted. "This is Fred Brathwaite Jr, it's his store. And this is Constable Larry Higgins, he was first on scene," the female constable explained. She indicated the two individuals—one a fairly rotund, balding older man with a Toronto Maple Leafs ball cap and a matching hooded sweatshirt and the other a frazzled young Metropolitan police officer with sweaty brown hair. The name tape on his uniform read Higgins.

"Okay, can you tell me what's going?" Parker asked patiently.

"Sure thing," the thickset man chirped. "I was at home watching the game and I got a call from the alarm company saying somebody broke into my store. They told me they'd called the police but I rushed down here too."

"Okay, who was first on scene?"

"I was Sergeant—uhm, me and my partner," the officer stammered.

"Constable Keisling?" Parker asked with some concern. If the two men were partners it would explain his beleaguered appearance.

"Yeah," Constable Higgins began hesitantly. "We went inside the uh, the lights were out so we were using our flash lights and… I don't know. We saw one guy and he started shooting at us. He hit Mark and uh, I returned fire but it just—it just got crazy in there and I couldn't get to him. I uh I pulled out." The man shook his head ruefully; he ran a shaky hand through his sweat-stained hair. Parker immediately understood the man regretted his decision to withdraw.

"Okay do you know if Constable Keisling was critical?" Parker questioned, that piece of information would be important for him so he could understand what kind of time table he was working with.

"I don't… I don't know. He got hit a few times," the constable struggled to explain. The event was a haze in his mind. His hands were still trembling from the abundance of adrenaline and he felt exhausted after the exertion inside. The gun fight had only lasted minutes, but his body had expended so much energy that he was fighting off the urge to fall asleep standing.

"What sort of weapon?"

"I don't know. Had to be a rifle. Too loud for a pistol."

"Mr. Brathwaite, what sort of firearms do you have inside?" Parker turned his questioning on the owner who was glancing at his store nervously.

"Pistols, shotguns, uhm hunting rifles—carbines… I've got all sorts of stuff and lots of ammo too," he explained.

"All right. Thank you gentleman," Parker offered with a nod. He didn't like the sound of what Mr. Brathwaite had told him. The subject was barricaded inside an armory. "Listen up team; given the officer's description we're going to assume our shooter has a higher-power carbine, potentially mil-spec." As dangerous as assumptions could be, it was a solid one. Multiple gunshots from a weapon thought to be larger than a pistol left only the mil-spec carbines or the hunting rifles. Most hunting rifles were bolt action and would probably be equipped with long distance scopes making shots in close quarters less practical.

"Boss, we got a problem," Spike suddenly chimed in.

"What is it?"

"I can't tap into the security system. Whatever this guy's got it's not networked to anything. It's completely closed circuit," Spike explained in a deflated tone. He was never fond of being hampered on a technical level.

"You can't cut into the CCTV?"

"Well I could cut into the coax if I knew where it was, but I'm not seeing anything on the exterior of the building," Spike responded. He was currently probing around the outside walls of the target building, but his search had not turned up anything of use.

"Okay, Ed see if you can move up get a look with the old mark one eye ball," Greg ordered, referring to the human eye. "But proceed with caution."

"What's going on?" Mr. Brathwaite questioned.

"Sir, what sort of security system do you have?"

"Just the basic stuff. An alarm company monitors motion sensors and door sensors from the store. They go off then the alarm is activated and they call me and you guys," Brathwaite explained simply. He paused for a moment. "I've only got a few cameras in the store and they just get recorded on a tape in my office. They're just there to make shoplifters think twice."

"All right thank you," Parker acknowledged. He took off his cap and ran a hand across his smooth scalp. "Mr. Brathwaite you can go with this officer, she'll take care of you. Higgins why don't you cool off, but stick around I may need you for additional information."

"No problem, Sergeant," Higgins responded with the same shaky voice. He was obviously unnerved by what had happened—by his decision to abandon his partner inside a store with an armed gunman. But the past couldn't be helped now. Sergeant Parker had to focus on getting the gunman and the wounded constable out. He started to march toward the command truck.


	5. Chapter 5

Spike was already hard at work on his assigned tasks, but it seemed altogether hopeless that he'd be able to establish eyes inside the premises by tapping into the security feed. As a result Sergeant Parker was authorizing Ed to move the Alpha element up and see if they could see anything. Ordinarily they'd move slower in order to mitigate the danger posed by the active shooter, but they had a shot police officer they needed to extract and as a result were willing to assume the additional risk involved with approaching the building.

"Copy that, boss. Raf get the shield," Ed began as he, Raf and Sam yanked open the rear door of the Suburban in order to draw some of their equipment. Raf dug around the back of the truck in search of the ballistic shield, a tool he never much enjoyed carrying because it was just a large target that got a shooter's attention. He wanted to impress the team, but he didn't want to be the guy getting shot to pieces.

Jules quickly grabbed her Remington 700, but frowned at the options available to her for a suitable perch. "These are all single-story buildings," she complained, looking around at the small businesses across from their target building. "I'm not going to get a very good vantage."

"Jules, the front part of that store is almost entirely glass," Ed indicated. The team looked over to see that he was right. Massive windows of plate glass took up most of the space on the walls of both the first and second floor. Ed Lane wanted eyes inside, whether it was from a camera, his own eyes, or a rifle scope.

"I'll do my best," Jules responded as she slung the rifle and kit bag and then made her way across the street in search of roof access. Over watch would be important for them in case they moved inside or in case the subject was foolish enough to expose himself in front of one of the many windows. Jules would be hampered somewhat by the array of camping gear, tents, and mannequins that obscured her view through the windows—but they had to try something.

"Raf, you ready?" Ed asked as he turned to face the fresh-faced SRU operator.

Raf exhaled deeply and let out a sizable breath of air. "Yeah, I'm ready," he confirmed as he hefted the ballistic shield, albeit nervously.

"Okay, we're going to move up on the southern side of that window. Sam and I will cover you. We're going to see if we can get any eyes inside."

The team set off in a tight three man stack. Raf was in the lead, clutching a ballistic shield which he held tightly at the ready. His Glock 17 was positioned just to the side of the shield as he had been trained. He peered out from behind the ballistic glass window slit on the face of the shield feeling particularly edgy.

Ed was right behind him with his MP5A3 at the ready. His steely blue eyes studied the windows from beneath the rim of his helmet as they approached the building. The team leader's hand was firmly planted on Raf's shoulder. Sam was right behind Ed in much the same stance and equipped very similarly.

The trio crept forward, but as soon as they passed a nearby police cruiser gunfire erupted from the target building. The plate glass windows on the first floor of the sporting goods store erupted into pieces as bullets tore through the glass and impacted outside. The sound was deafening and frightened everyone nearby. Police and civilians alike dove for nearby cover, but the projectiles were aimed randomly. They skittered into police cars where they shattered windows and demolished light bars. Even the SRUs Suburbans took a few stray shots.

Raf dropped to one knee and hefted his shield to cover him and his team from the gunfire. Moments after the first salvos spewed from the darkened building inside another few shots were heard. The rounds snapped and cracked and Raf felt impacts on the shield. He fell backward from the force, but had the presence of mind to keep the shield up as he struggled to scoot himself back behind cover.

Sam sheltered behind the trunk of a police car that had been shot up, he propped himself up on his elbows and aimed in on the storefront looking for a target to shoot. But he didn't have the location of the shooter—all he could base the subject's location on was muzzle flashes, but it was evident the individual would fire and move immediately after, making it hard for Sam to get a bead on him.

"Don't shoot," Ed barked. "We've still got a cop in there." Sam didn't need reminding. Ed Lane reached out to Raf as another flurry of shots rang out and zipped past their position. He grasped the handle on the back Raf's body armor tightly and dragged the rookie SRU officer back behind the cover provided by the police cruiser.

"Stay back!" A voice shouted in a commanding tone from inside the dimly lit building.

"Well, we know we're dealing with a male subject," Ed observed dryly. "Jules, have you got eyes on the storefront yet?"

_"Negative, still trying to find roof access,"_ she complained through his earpiece.

"Copy that. Make it quick."

_"Roger." _

David Resnick leaned back behind a countertop he had been using for cover just in case the police had decided to fire on him. He realized now the stakes were much higher. He had shot a police officer and fired at more to keep them from coming near the building. It would buy him time to devise how he was going to escape. He dropped to a knee and dropped an empty aluminum magazine from his carbine. Empty shell casings lay scattered around him on the floor amidst large shards of glass.

He stayed low as he ran back to where the wounded officer was laying. The man was half slumped against a shelf of fishing supplies. David had disarmed him after the other police officer had fled. The man had a gunshot wound to his right shoulder, right forearm and right thigh. David had used some towels as makeshift bandages for the wounds, but he didn't know what else to do. The police officer was losing a lot of blood. He could see it pooling up beneath the man.

"Your friends are here," David told the officer, as he checked the tightness of the towels. The bleeding hadn't stopped on the leg, although it seeped slowly through the towels fabric now rather than the high pressure and volume that had gushed out earlier. "I just need some time to get out of here and then they'll send paramedics in here for you."

But the constable didn't reply. His breathing was extremely shallow; his skin was milk white and cold to the touch and perspired continuously. His lips were blue and quivered as if he was freezing and yet he was sweating profusely. His eyes appeared nearly lifeless and if not for the shivering David might have thought he was dead.

David loaded another magazine into his Windham Weaponry SRC-CAN carbine and racked the charging handle back, loading another bullet into the chamber. He was very familiar with firearms and particularly skilled at using them. He'd learned a myriad of different skill sets in his previous lifestyle, all things he thought he'd need to know in case of running into trouble with the police or more likely, a rival organization.

He could hear all of the activity outside and wondered how much time he would have until they made another attempt to get inside. By now they realized he was dangerous and they'd either come rushing in soon to save their fellow officer, or they'd be more deliberate about approaching because he'd shown a willingness to shoot at them. He let out an exasperated sigh. He knew he'd be in their sights now and he was at risk, but there wasn't anything he could do. He had to save Rachel and that meant arming himself and getting to the place he was certain they'd be keeping her.

Outside Sergeant Parker had taken up a position in the command truck where he was joined shortly after by Spike. The officer shrugged and shook his head with dismay at the admission of not being able to locate a place he could tap into security. They'd have to do things the old fashion way.

There was one thing he could do, however. He calmly plugged away at his laptop and brought up floor plans for the old outdoors store. He tapped a few more keys and sent the plans off to his teammates PDAs. They were older, not the fancy digital versions that would give the team a 3d visual of the interior, but they wouldn't need that. They could work wonders with a simple layout. "Guys, I'm sending you floor plans of the building."

"We need to know what kind of a man we're dealing with," Sergeant Parker discerned. It was obvious he was willing to be violent, but Parker needed to get into the man's head if he was going to talk him down. He had to know the how and why of what was happening. What brought the subject to this store in particular and had he shot the constable because he was surprised, or was he merely so cold-blooded he'd shoot at anyone willing to stop him? He'd fired on Team One when they moved up, but hadn't hit anyone. But Parker couldn't gamble on that being intended or not. There were still too many variables.

"I think we know that already," Sam spoke up. "He's violent. He shot a cop and now he just shot at us. We need to get in there and take him out."

"Take him out?" Ed asked suspiciously. He looked over at Sam disappointed by his choice of words. The Army veteran was still hunched over his weapon on the trunk of the police cruiser, waiting for the subject to show himself.

"Sorry, neutralize the subject," Sam amended dispassionately.

"Okay, I've got the number to the store. I'm going to dial it up and see if we can get our subject talking," Parker announced over his team's silence. "Maybe then we can shed some light on why our guy is doing this."

But the why of it didn't matter to Sam. All that mattered was the fact that he'd shot a friend and moments after that he'd fired on Sam and his teammates. He was clearly ready to kill people. Sam was ready to return the sentiment.


	6. Chapter 6

Sergeant Parker tried the telephone line inside the store multiple times, but no one ever answered. He hung up after his fourth attempt and paced around the interior of the command truck with a degree of anxiousness. It was always a battle to maintain a calm demeanor in circumstances such as these, but it was particularly difficult when the life of a fellow officer was hanging in the balance.

The door of the command truck swung open and Ed stepped inside. He had his helmet off and tucked under his arm. "Any change?"

"No," Parker began. "I'm concerned he's going into some sort of last stand mentality. He's shot a cop and now he thinks he's got nothing to lose."

"Nothing more dangerous than an animal that thinks he's cornered," Ed remarked, though they generally frowned on using analogies that equated their subjects to animals. It was dehumanizing and that was dangerous. "If that's the case then he could be fortifying his position in there. Could be hard to dig him out."

"Yeah, that's why I'd rather talk him out," Sergeant Parker scratched his neck. "What are our tactical options?"

"We can use CS and smoke him out, but it's risky with a wounded officer in there. We don't know his condition and CS could complicate his status. We can toss the phone in," Ed stated, referring to the portable telephone system they used. It was a robust design packaged in a durable plastic composite case. The line connected directly to the command truck. Even if the subject didn't answer, the phone could provide audio intelligence to the team.

"Okay, let's do it. Some intelligence is better than none," Parker conceded. "But Ed, I want total stealth. I don't need this guy spraying the street again. Uniforms are having a hard time getting these people out of here and the crowd is growing with every minute."

Ed nodded. As if the imperative of a wounded officer wasn't enough now they had to deal with curious onlookers. It was a constant irritation for their job. People had a tremendous need to go and watch, as if the events unfolding before them were some sort of television show being filmed for their amusement or as if they had any right to see precisely everything that took place. It irked Ed considerably.

"Braddock, get the phone," Ed ordered through his microphone.

Ed's ears perked up when he heard Sam complain. _"We're still trying to talk to this guy? We need to get in there and get to that wounded officer."_

Ed was reminded of one of the first warrants the team had served after Braddock came aboard. A debacle had occurred involving an innocent civilian and an undercover police officer trying to get that individual clear of the target location and a notoriously dangerous subject. Braddock had made entry and broke formation. In the end the young man, a reformed drug addict, was killed and Sam hardly seemed concerned. In the end Detective Gettys had survived and that was what had concerned him the most, the kid was an afterthought. This situation seemed dangerously similar. Sam Braddock had come a long way since his hot headed early days on the team, but he seemed emotionally charged now. Ed felt as if he was missing something.

"We talk until no other options are open," Ed reminded the younger officer as he arrived near the SRU vehicle.

"There are no other options. He shot a cop. Then he shot at us. It's plain to see what needs to happen now," Sam argued vehemently. He'd taken his eyes off the storefront now as he squared up to Ed.

"And what is that Sam? What needs to happen?" Ed questioned with his keen eyes set on Braddock.

"We need to get inside and neutralize the subject, secure Marcus and get him some medical attention," Sam declared with his blue eyes leveled on the team leader.

"That guy is barricaded inside there with a treasure trove of firearms and plenty of ammunition to go to war with us. We have over a hundred people and more gathering every second hoping to watch that war—every one of them is at risk if things escalate," Ed reminded his hot-tempered subordinate.

"So we push them back," Sam retorted irritably.

"It's the boss's call, Braddock," Ed said raising a hand to indicate he wouldn't argue the point any further. "Get the phone."

Sam shook his head and Ed could see his lip curl in frustration. He slung his submachine gun and yanked the large case that protected the phone out of the Suburban. He went to work connecting the line to the command truck then led it over to where Ed and Raf stood waiting.

"Jules what's your twenty?" Ed asked, referring to her location.

"_Above the auto shop. Limited vis,"_ she exclaimed. She adjusted the dope on her rifle scope to account for the range, or lack thereof. She strained to see inside the sporting goods store, but the lights were out.

"Listen up, we're moving up again to toss the phone in," Ed began to explain. "You're going to cover us in case our subject decides to get trigger happy again."

"_Copy,"_ Jules replied. She was on the roof of a one-story structure that served as an auto repair shop. She adjusted her position accordingly, forced into a prone position with her Remington 700 supported by extended bipods. Her small frame lay motionless and relaxed behind the rifle's scope. _"Boss, can I get a Scorpio call in case this guy opens fire and I have a shot?" _

Sergeant Parker believed the request to be a reasonable one, but hesitated in granting it. He didn't want this call to end with a dead subject, regardless of his transgressions against the team. But Jules didn't necessarily need the go ahead from him. Protocol was set in place to ensure lawful shootings of a subject in order to minimize the use of lethal force and in the event he opened fire on the Alpha element approaching with the phone Jules would be able to take the shot. In that instance she'd be defending her teammates and the precision fire from her sniper rifle would negate any risk to the wounded officer inside. It was evident Jules was trying to play it safe, however. "Okay, Jules," Parker acceded. "If he shoots on our team again and you have a clean shot you can take it."

"_Good to go,"_ Jules replied. _"Ready when you are, Alpha."_

Sam's eyes glanced up at the rooftop Jules was positioned upon. He couldn't see her. Tradecraft demanded as much. She'd be positioned well away from the edge of the building in order to expose as little of herself as possible. Cover and concealment were the sniper's best defense. He hefted the large plastic case that held the portable telephone system. "Ready."

"Okay," Ed nodded. He signaled to Raf who once again lifted the shield in order to protect the team that formed up behind him. "Sierra One, Alpha is on the move."

"_Copy."_

They slinked slowly forward once more. Raf had his pistol up and sighted in on the window, but hoped the subject would not open fire again. He was woefully underequipped in comparison. Sweat dribbled down the side of his face from beneath the ballistic helmet he wore.

Ed was similarly underequipped. Although he carried an MP5A3 Submachine gun that fired a 9mm Parabellum round it did not compete with the carbine the subject was using. The carbine had greater range, a higher muzzle velocity and a greater chance for penetration which caused each officer some concern as they advanced. Their body armor would not stand up well to the 5.56mm ball ammunition the subject was firing. The only relief was that at this range Ed could still effectively engage the subject, albeit with little accuracy given that his view was obstructed by a tangle of merchandise in the store window. Because of this, faith in their safety rested solely upon Jules Callaghan who was acting as their guardian angel.

"Pick up the pace, Raf," Ed ordered calmly.

The young officer acknowledged and the team scooted forward as nearby officers watched in silence, glad for the fact it wasn't any of them that had to expose themselves to an active shooter with a high powered firearm. The trio scooted across the open ground beyond cruisers that had already been shot up. This time the subject did not fire and with due haste they arrived beside one of the shattered windows.

"Sam," Ed said evenly. His weapon was trained on the interior of the shop in case the subject suddenly appeared. The inside of the shop was dark and if one focused too hard they might see shadows or a figure where there was not one. It was tricky business when your life and that of your team's was hanging in the balance. But Ed was a veteran and could keep his apprehension in check.

Raf mirrored the technique, scanning the dark interior. He nervously licked his lips and adjusted his grip on the Glock 17 clutched firmly in his gloved hand. He felt exposed so close to the subject's firing point. They were blind to his whereabouts, but with a well-lit background he could surely see them. Even as he huddled behind the safety of his shield he felt an inner apprehension he didn't relish. _Toss the phone inside already_, he thought to himself.

Sam dragged the line toward the container so he could get some slack and toss the phone further into the building. He was irritated over the fact that they had decided to go this route when the more prudent tactic would be to assault the store and take down the subject. His mind fumbled over thoughts and struggled with emotions. He felt a keen need to get inside and get to Marcus Keisling before the man expired. It wasn't that they were close—in fact he only remembered the man because of his good nature and dedicated mindset. He had only talked to him a handful of times since they both left the Army.

Even in recruit training Marcus had been the type of man that led by example and inspired others that struggled with kind words and a caring heart. He wasn't a tough man in the sense that he didn't yell or motivate people with the typical military bravado, but rather he appealed to their inner sense of pride and a determination he knew everyone there possessed. Despite the fact that he had never needed that guiding reassurance from Marcus he observed time and again those who did. Marcus got a lot of young men through tough times and Sam didn't need to hear stories to know he carried that same attitude with him to his infantry regiment.

And now that man was either dead or dying. They didn't know which. That was the worst part. They were working against a clock and yet his team Sergeant didn't execute their plan with any sense of urgency and the team leader seemed content to go along with that. It was unfathomable. They were talking about the life of an officer here; at this point Sam was unconcerned with the subject who had shown himself to be violent.

With one mighty heave Sam Braddock tossed the bulky portable telephone system into the shop. In one swift motion he brought his own MP5 up and into his shoulder. His eyes scanned the inside looking for an opportunity to take the shot and end this absurd standoff.

"Okay, let's go," Ed commanded lightly.

The team began to backtrack the way they had come. They walked carefully backwards with their weapons still presented toward the subject who had not revealed himself. They would not show their backs to him while they were in the open. They could hear the phone begin to ring as they withdrew.


	7. Chapter 7

"We got an update yet, boss?" Ed asked with careful tact. He and his other two officers were still aimed in on the storefront from behind a police cruiser. No movement had been detected from their position and Sierra One, Jules, had reported no movement either. But they could hear the phone ringing incessantly inside.

"_He's not answering, Eddie,"_ Parker remarked contritely over his radio.

"He's not going to answer," Sam complained. He shook his head, feeling hopelessly helpless to assist the downed officer. His impatience was mounting. If he'd been running tactics he'd have pushed Sergeant Parker for the direct action option.

"Picking up anything on audio?" Lane questioned, hoping to get some sort of development out of the phone use.

"_Negative. Wherever it landed, he's not nearby it,"_ Parker answered.

"_I've got movement!"_ Jules suddenly broke in on their conversation over the radio. _"I've got what appears to be a flashlight near White Bravo One."_ The team utilized a brevity code system for reporting movement on a given building—it was an old technique originally developed by firefighters but saw use with police and military units worldwide after they adjusted it to fit their own procedures. The wall designated the front of a building was classified as white, and then continued in a clockwise direction—blue, black, and red respectively. Each floor was classified by a letter from the phonetic alphabet; alpha was the first floor, bravo the second and so on. Each window on a particular floor was numbered in ascending order. White Bravo One meant front of the building, second floor, and first window on the southeast corner.

The trio at street level immediately looked up at the window attempting see what Jules could, but it was no use. They didn't have a good angle. "What is it, Sierra One?" Ed questioned. It was the first development in over twenty minutes.

"_Looks like someone is moving around inside with a flashlight,"_ she explained. _"It's hard to tell."_

"Boss, I think we've got an opportunity here," Ed expressed over the radio. He brought up his PDA and quickly examined the floor plans Spike had sent earlier. There were only three entrances into the building—the front door on white wall, an employee entrance on the south side (blue wall) facing the parking lot, and a service/merchandise hatch in the back on the west side (black wall) of the building. "If he's up there fooling around we know where he is."

"_What's your plan, Eddie?"_ Parker listened intently.

"We make entry now, fast and hard before our guy gets back downstairs. The rear door gives us direct access and puts us almost on top of where Keisling was hit," Lane explained. Sam looked at him with determined eyes. Ed could sense Sam's willingness to execute the plan, but Ed ignored the unspoken sentiment. It wasn't about what Sam wanted—it was about containing the subject and keeping him away from the wounded officer so they could make entry.

"_We don't know if the subject moved Keisling—we haven't got any eyes inside," Parker_ argued. _"For all we know he's upstairs now with the hostage fortifying his position. According to these plans there's only one access point to the second floor and that means the team has to go up a narrow staircase to get there. It gives him the upper hand, Ed."_ It was a fair assessment. A narrow staircase meant a fatal funnel, it was usually a term given for doorways because a narrow corridor or doorframe silhouetted an operator and made it easy for a gunman to shoot and kill the officer. Still, Ed couldn't help but feel as if Sergeant Parker was lacking confidence in the team.

"Greg we have got to do something," Ed urged his Sergeant. "It's been almost an hour since that officer was hit. We need to get inside and get him medical attention. If he's not on the first floor we'll reevaluate."

If Officer Keisling had been shot in any of his arteries it was likely he was already dead, unless the subject had allowed the officer to treat his own wounds. But for his part Constable Higgins could not identify definitively where or how many times Keisling had been shot. There were so many unknowns, but there was one thing they did know—Keisling was running out of time, if he hadn't already.

Parker took a seat next to Spike and looked over at his young computer expert. Spike gave him a quiet nod—the sort of reassuring nudge that it was okay to commit the team and for whatever reason it made it easier for Parker to give the go ahead. "Okay, Eddie. Do it."

"Sierra One, what's the subject's twenty?" Ed asked as he and the other two officers under his charge seamlessly began to move for the rear door on the black wall he'd briefed Sergeant Parker on.

_"He's still on the second floor. I can't see him, but the light is still moving around up there. Maybe he's looking for something,"_ Jules elucidated. She adjusted her eye relief behind the scope hoping to get a better visual, but it was no use. It was too dark. She cursed herself for not bringing the thermal scope up with her. The two they had were normally packed in Sam or Ed's kit bag since they assumed the Sierra role most often.

"Copy. Let's go boys. Fast and hard, fast and hard," he pressed. He marshaled the two officers down the road.

All three officers yanked off their helmets and put specially designed head harnesses built for night vision goggles on. The headgear was colloquially called a halo and would allow them to mount the NE/PVS-14 monocular night vision device. The optic was worn over one eye and used a third generation image intensifier tube that allowed the wearer to see in the dark—albeit through a green hue.

The trio skirted behind the assembled police vehicles on Dufferin Street, including their own Suburbans. Flashes from nearby photographers, amateur and professional alike, lit them up as they sped by. It was evident to the assembled crowd that something was happening—they just didn't know what.

Raf was in the lead, still trudging along with the heavy ballistic shield that would protect them on entry. At this point he was becoming comfortable with it, though he felt somewhat fatigued from lugging it around all over the place. At least he knew it could stop or deflect the rounds the subject was firing.

The team rounded the last police cruiser and began their speedy movement toward the north wall of the building. Getting close quickly meant they could avoid detection by the subject, who by Jules' account, was fishing around upstairs for something. They ran forward along the white brick wall of Brathwaite's sporting goods store. The cracked, two-lane pavement of Eversfield road was on their right. When they reached the back corner Raf stopped abruptly and performed a quick turkey peak to ensure they couldn't be spotted in the back parking lot where the service door was located. There was a patrol car located along Eversfield road as officers had cordoned off the area, but they appeared more concerned with keeping civilians back. "We're clear," Raf muttered as he hastened to the large double-door service entry.

Sam went to work on the lock with his kit. He moved with practiced deftness. Lock-picking was another skill taught to him in the Army. It wasn't widely taught, but it was an important tool for someone operating clandestinely on special operations.

Ed leaned out from behind the shelter provided by Raf's shield. With no windows on their side of the building he kept his muzzle trained on the door in case the subject decided to surprise them. "We go in quiet. We clear swift and silent and secure the subject. As soon as we do we'll bring EMS in to assist Constable Keisling," he briefed with hasty proficiency.

"EMS should be on our heels as soon as we clear the first floor. We can contain the subject to the second floor," Sam argued while continuing to defeat the lock.

"That's against protocol, Braddock," Ed reminded him. They couldn't possibly bring emergency services in to treat or evacuate the casualty—not with a well-armed subject at large and not in a building this small. Sometimes Sam had a problem comprehending those small tactical differences. In a war zone that sort of risk was acceptable because medics were armed and could defend themselves. Indeed, soldiers made heroic actions and sacrifices common place in order to save their comrades, but they had more people to work with than Ed had on hand. Then there was the safety of the rest of the populace. They couldn't afford to let this guy escape. They had to detain the subject first. Constable Keisling's circumstances were regrettable, but it was something every cop knew when signing on to do the job.

Braddock simply grunted derisively at the reply. He was clearly not happy with Ed's tactical command thus far, even if he'd been glad that Ed had finally pressured Sergeant Parker to allow them to make entry. But for Sam Braddock the call had taken too long. Even as he successfully picked the lock and carefully eased open the door he couldn't stifle a thought in the back of his mind that they were already too late.


	8. Chapter 8

"Entry inside was swift. With their night vision devices flipped on they could see inside the unlit interior of the store clearly. They entered quietly, but moved with resolve. Raf, the shield still in hand, entered and rode the back wall clearing as he went. His goal was to reach the staircase and provide security on it until the first floor was cleared by Sam and Ed—the point of this was to make sure the man didn't come back downstairs and surprise them.

Ed performed a button hook and cleared the corner opposite Raf, then continued to sweep through the first floor in a methodical manner. His submachine gun was up and tucked tightly into his shoulder. His grip lightened up ever-so-slightly on the broom-handle positioned on the front rail of his weapon. "Jules where's our guy?" Ed quietly requested an update.

_"Still upstairs in the same corner—looks like he's moving less now,"_ she reported.

Sam was just behind him, clearing his own avenue. The benefit of the NE/PVS-14s were that they only covered one eye up, giving the wearer additional peripheral vision, albeit not much. Sam could see clothing racks stuffed with winter coats, hunting jackets, and rugged trousers. There were tents fully erected in one section on display. They were all zipped up looking snug and cozy, save for one which was open and had a set of sleeping bags inside with mannequins dressed for camping outside as if to illustrate a scene in the wild. There were rows of rifles and pistols in glass cases. Boxes of all kinds of ammunition lined shelves next to tackle boxes, duct tape, electrical tape, backpacks, and military style meals-ready-to-eat. The store was jam packed with various types of merchandise for the hunter or the fisherman.

With Raf holding security on the staircase Ed and Sam meticulously swept past each aisle and cleared one after another. They searched the manager's office and checked behind each lengthy counter where registers sat idly upon glass cases that contained knives and robust watches built for the outdoorsman. Then Sam saw the scene—a figure crumpled and still against a shelf where tackle gear for fishing gear and bait sat. He sped his way over and knelt down beside the officer, Constable Keisling. "Marcus, you hear me?" he questioned as he clenched a fingertip from his glove between his teeth and yanked it off his hand. He checked for a pulse. It took some time, but he found one—albeit faint. His skin was cold to the touch.

Ed arrived seconds later. "Braddock we need to continue our clear," he ordered. "The faster we find the subject the faster we get EMS in here."

Sam sneered at the idea of leaving the wounded cop, but he wasn't going to argue now. "Hang on buddy. You're doing good. Just hold on." But the officer hardly responded at all. His eyes, nearly drained of all life, looked vacantly at Sam. Braddock rose to his feet and slipped the glove back on his hand.

They joined Raf at the base of the stairs. The rookie SRU member was kneeling, hidden behind his shield which he presented to the empty narrow staircase. His Glock was pointed alertly upward, but so far he'd had no cause to use it.

"No movement?" Ed questioned as he hunkered down on one knee behind Raf. The young officer shook his head indicating the answer was no. Ed gave him a rigid wave of the hand forward. It was time to move.

They advanced faster now, less concerned with the noise and more focused on speed. Now they needed to overwhelm the subject before he had the opportunity to fathom what was happening. Yet each of them felt their nerves racking around inside their heads. The subject was well-armed and could potentially be fortified behind cover waiting for them.

Each footstep brought them closer to the threat. Each creek on the stairs made the hair on their necks stand up. Faster, more fluid, on and on, up and up they went. There were only two dozen stairs to cover and yet the journey seemed endless as if they were climbing the stairs of Ankor Wat. When they broke the crest of the staircase and found themselves on the second floor they saw in the far corner of the store a beam of light emanating from what had to be a flashlight. It moved about randomly. The beam cascaded smoothly from one direction to the next, but the officers struggled to see beyond. The shadows' darkness deepened thanks to the presence of light.

"Hands up! Hands up!" Raf shouted as he swiftly covered the distance from the stairwell to where the light was shining.

"Right there!" Ed yelled. "Let's see some hands! Let me see your hands!" He stepped out from behind Raf and presented his weapon toward the bright ray of light.

"SRU on the ground now!" Sam commanded. It dawned on him for a moment that his own shout differed from that of his teammates and may have been counterproductive, but he shook off the notion and kept his weapon trained on the subject.

But the light didn't stop its movement. Instead the beam continued to dance over items in the store. Raf and Ed advanced warily while Sam covered them from further back. Each step was carefully measured as their eyes remained fixed on the threat. They couldn't see the subject—the flashlight was blinding them partially. That meant they wouldn't know if he was about to shoot until he pulled the trigger.

But when Ed moved up he realized immediately they'd been duped. He saw a flashlight dangling from the line of a fishing pole that was wedged between a shelf and the wall. A fan was set up a few feet away which caused the flashlight to sway and move slightly in the breeze. Ed ripped the fishing pole down and switched off the light.

"He's not here," he said urgently. His eyes shifted back toward Sam and Raf who looked perplexed.

Sam shook off the slight amazement and immediately made his way back downstairs toward Constable Keisling. "Sam!" Ed called after him, but the officer was gone. "Raf, we need to clear this floor and find this guy."

And their search continued. They checked the restrooms, storage areas, supply room, every closet they could see. They re-cleared the first floor too, but there was no sign of their subject. Ed was at a loss for words and then he laid steely blue eyes on an arrangement of camping tents on the first floor. When they had entered the building every tent had been zipped up tight except for one, but now two tents had open flaps. Ed walked over and glanced inside, his weapon at the ready, but there was no sign of their subject.

"_Eddie, I need an update,"_ Parker broke in over comm.

"Subject is gone. He's still at large," Ed admitted hesitantly. He ducked out the door to look in the parking lot. There were two uniformed officers taking cover behind their patrol car in the road. Their attention was hardly on the target building. Ed waved at them, but they didn't see him so he shouted. "Did you guys see anyone?"

"No," they yelled back in a tone that indicated he was an idiot.

"_Say again, Ed. He got away? How?" _Parker asked impatiently.

Ed dragged the halo and night vision device off and ran a gloved hand over the stubble upon his head. "The flashlight was a trick. He had it rigged up on a fishing line with a fan blowing it around to make us think he was up there. He hid inside a tent display when we cleared the first floor and must have escaped through the door we entered." Ed let out a quiet curse. His MP5 was drawn tightly against his body and he paced about like an angry father. They failed to check the tents, they let an armed subject get behind them and ultimately escape. He supposed they were lucky he didn't shoot them all in the back.

"_I need EMS now. Get them in here,"_ Sam demanded urgently over the radio.

Ed rounded the aisle where they'd found Keisling and found Sam desperately trying to apply pressure to bloodied towels tied tightly in place over multiple gunshot wounds. He ran over to assist.

"He's lost a lot of blood," Sam explained as he leaned on the officer's thigh with all his weight. Keisling was ghost white and non-responsive. His eyes were open, but sluggish. His lids drooped over empty brown eyes. "C'mon Mark, you're good, buddy. Paramedics are coming right now. Just hang out." Sam's voice was pleading and quite unlike what Ed had heard from the man before. He had taken his gloves off and his hands were covered in the man's blood and Ed noticed the blood was bright red—that wasn't good.

The paramedics hastened onto the scene and Sam and Ed were forced back as they attempted to go to work. They spoke to one another, exchanging information on the constable's vitals and they immediately noticed the amount of blood loss. There had to be pints of the stuff on the floor beneath Keisling. They worked frantically, identifying entry and exit wounds. They checked his respiration and pulse and found both to be shallow. They needed to control the bleeding and treat the man for shock, but he was so far gone. They worked quickly, they toiled away over him as his pulse dropped and his breath gave out.

Sam watched. He felt helpless. He felt useless. He could treat combat injuries. He had been trained for that, but these paramedics knew their craft better than he and yet to him they dithered needlessly. Their work wasn't fast enough, or it didn't convey the sort of compassion or effort this man deserved. They performed CPR then, Keisling's breathing had stopped. His heart had given out—so overwrought from the toil of pumping blood through a body filled with holes.

There was more urgency to the medics' work then as they struggled to revive the man, but he did not move. Keisling was still as night. One of the paramedics turned to face Ed and Sam who hovered over the police officer. He shook his head. "He's gone."

Sam didn't want to believe it. Emotion would push him to argue the diagnosis, but he was no stranger to this sort of thing. He'd been party to many similar scenes in Afghanistan. There was no pleading for life, no insistent urge to a seemingly dead man that could bring him back suddenly from the afterlife. When you were gone… you were gone. They couldn't do anything about it. Sam felt angry and then guilty for accepting that Marcus Keisling was dead.

Sam knelt over the body and the paramedics gave him space. Keisling's eyes were still open, albeit only slightly. Sam tenderly brushed his lids closed with his hand. He exhaled heavily and regarded his fellow Afghan veteran solemnly. His eyes were drawn to a chain around the deceased officer's neck. He grasped the chain and pulled an old set of Army dog tags from around his neck. Blood flecked the silver aluminum surface. Sam ran a thumb across the face of the tag and the crimson liquid smeared.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Ed offered weakly. He hung his head low, deflated from his own failure as team leader.

"He's dead because we waited," Sam hissed with certainty. "This is our fault." He rose to his feet and without another word swept an arm across a stack of items. The force of his swipe knocked everything off the shelf onto the floor. He stifled the rage that threatened to rip from his chest and stomped out of the store.

Ed's eyes were locked on the floor as if he'd just been convicted of a terrible crime. He felt the failure deep within his heart and yet it was Sam's words that stung the hardest. He didn't say a word. What could he say? Maybe Sam was right.


	9. Chapter 9

"How did he get out?" Parker asked, turning to Spike.

Spike shook his head. "Maybe he got over this back wall next to the parking lot," Spike guessed. He pointed at the satellite photo of the target building. The empty parking lot on the west side of the store extended until it met a brick wall which bordered a two story house. If the subject got over that wall then he was running free through more yards in the neighborhood.

Sergeant Parker immediately ordered uniformed officers to sweep through the area and check, but it was only a guess at the moment. Officers began searching back yards, side alleys and sweeping different nearby streets and adjacent homes. They knocked on doors and questioned or warned citizens an armed subject was at large. The entire situation was a mess.

Sergeant Parker stepped out of the command truck just as team four was rolling up to the scene. Parker saw the familiar face of an old friend and former team member approaching. Sergeant Rolland "Rollie" Cray stepped forward and offered a hand for the team one sergeant to shake. "Rollie, good to see you," Parker greeted.

"What's going on, Greg?" Cray questioned as he surveyed the site. There were bits of shattered glass all over the pavement, bullet-ridden police cars and before he'd arrived he had just been told the subject had evaded capture. Team One was out of their element it seemed.

"Subject pulled the wool over our eyes," Parker admitted peevishly. "He rigged a flashlight up to a fishing pole on the second floor to draw our attention up there. We made entry and honed in on that position but obviously he wasn't there."

"You didn't clear beforehand?" Cray asked doubtfully.

"No, they cleared. But the subject was hiding in a tent that was on display on the ground floor. He slipped out after the team passed him."

"And the cordon missed him?" Sergeant Cray asked with eyes wide. A lot had gone wrong.

"Afraid so. We're having a heck of a time with crowd control so I don't think they were very focused on the target building once we moved up," Greg clarified with his hands on his hips. He shook his head, disappointed by the failure to capture the subject. "Uniforms are canvassing the neighborhood, but he's disappeared."

"Look, we'll go ahead and relieve you guys," Cray offered. He looked over to see his team leader already deploying his team in their vehicles to begin a search for the subject.

"No, no, no," Parker complained. "We screwed the pooch on this one. We need to help get the subject."

"Look, I've got my team and plenty of uniforms. Plus team two just wrapped up their call and is on the way. We've got more than enough of bodies on this. It's not your shift, Greg. Take a break," Cray implored with concern. Everyone on the SRU ran into issues like this—when your team got called in because the shift teams were busy it was hard to walk away leaving business unfinished. But the way Rollie saw it there wasn't much more Team One could do and they still had a shift to work in the morning. "Get some rest."

Parker was quiet as he turned over the idea in his head, however much he didn't like it. Beyond Rollie he could see the EMS personnel wheeling a body out on a gurney. The figure was covered by a sheet which immediately told Parker that Constable Keisling had not survived. He felt his heart sink. It was another failure they could add to the night.

Then he laid eyes on Sam who stepped out from behind the shop looking particularly livid. He errantly kicked some of the glass on the pavement and then surveyed the area as he shook his head with discontent. It was clear he was not happy with how things had gone, but Parker imagined none of the team would be too thrilled either. His eyes fixated on the ambulance and he watched with quiet disappointment while the paramedics loaded up Constable Keisling's body. There was something more there, not just the death of a fellow police officer. Perhaps Sam knew Keisling, but so far the JTF2 veteran had not hinted at such.

"Greg?" Rollie's voice dragged Parker back to the moment and his eyes met with his old team member's gaze once again. "What do you say? I think we've got things well in hand."

He paused for a moment, unwilling to relinquish control, but Rollie was right. His people needed to rest. In a little over six hours they'd have to start their own shift. His people needed sleep and things had wound down here. A manhunt was happening now and while Team One could easily involve themselves in that it was hard to admit they wouldn't be able to do much more than those already involved. "Okay Rollie, it's all yours. Spike's in the truck. He'll catch you up." Parker watched quietly as Sergeant Cray stepped inside. He gave one last look around the area and regretted leaving the scene in such a state.

"Ed, get the team gathered up down here. Spike, join us when you're done with Rollie," Sergeant Parker said into his radio.

"_Roger that, boss." _

"_Copy." _

Ten or twenty minutes passed before the team began to trickle in one by one. Sergeant Greg Parker was standing at the front end of one the team's Suburbans looking visibly distressed. His hat was off and lay motionless on the hood. Spike was the last to arrive after he had finished briefing Sergeant Rollie Cray on the situation.

"No easy way to say it, team," Parker began in earnest. His team was huddled around him and there was a grave air that surrounded them all. Today had not been an easy day. "Things went wrong—we weren't out our best. But that's how we learn. It's how we do better. We can save the how and why for later when we debrief, but I want everyone to keep their heads up. Team four is going to take over for us and team two is on the way to support them. Right now I want everyone to go home and get some sleep. Keep the gear, trucks and weapons checked out and I'll call you guys if there's any development."

"You're not going home?" Spike queried.

"I'm going to crash at the office," Greg exclaimed.

"We're just going to call it quits?" Sam questioned petulantly.

"We've got a full twelve hour shift ahead of us tomorrow, Sam," Parker reasoned.

"So?" Sam was accustomed to sleep deprivation. He'd been conditioned for it in the Army and it was an operational reality for him in Afghanistan.

"Tired cops make bad calls," Parker added. A certain amount of fatigue, enough hours without sleep, had the same effect as alcohol on the mind. Sergeant Parker needed his team as sharp as possible, as much as it pained him to stand down. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring and exhausted SRU members could be a liability.

"Oh, well, we know about that—don't we?" Sam scoffed.

"Excuse me, Constable?" Parker questioned, hands on hips. He leaned forward so he could hear Officer Braddock more clearly. The rest of the team sat in silent surprise by the sudden change in the atmosphere.

"Enough," Ed stepped in. "Take it easy. Boss, I got this. I'll see the rest of you in the morning."

Everyone hovered there for a moment waiting for a haughty exchange to begin. The gloomy feel from before had been replaced by tension. But eventually the other SRU members retreated—even Sergeant Parker walked away, albeit with some reluctance.

"What is going on with you, Braddock?" Ed demanded fiercely. He squared up to Sam and peered through the young man. A frown sat squarely upon his aged face and he seemed as if he were getting ready to hit Sam.

"We let a cop die today, Ed," Sam blared. His arms went up over his head in a theatric show to emphasize his point. "For what? For some scum bag criminal? He shot Mark and then he shot at us and we tried to _talk_. And now a cop is dead."

Ed clued in the diminutive form of Constable Keisling's first name. They had to at least be acquainted. "You knew him?"

"Yeah. Yeah I knew him," Sam replied in a loud tone—still angry. "We went to recruit training together. He was in the Army. He's an Afghan vet… was an Afghan vet." His voice got more sullen.

Ed knew what Sam didn't want to hear. He didn't want to be told this was the job and it was the risk they had all accepted when they'd come aboard. It was true of Ed and Sam and even of Constable Keisling. They had pledged themselves to the defense of the citizens of Toronto and that defense even extended to criminals. It was a constant battle to decide when deadly force was warranted or not. But Sam knew that and didn't need to hear it. He was troubled by the loss of a friend and no words would likely console him. "There are a million different ways that could have gone, Sam. You know that," he argued, hoping to subscribe to Sam's tactical mindset.

Sam knew the variables; he understood the job well enough to get that. But it didn't make the man's death any less terrible and Sam was still irate. They could have acted quicker—they should have acted quicker.

"Get some rest," Ed added in a more familial tone. "We've got a long day tomorrow."

"Fine," Sam allowed. "But I hope they don't find him tonight."

"Why?"

"Because he's mine."

Sam walked away without uttering another word.


	10. Chapter 10

Jules insisted they stay at her house. She didn't want Sam alone. The worse thing he could do at the moment was ruminate on the night's events and allow his anger to fester. Even as they drove home silently sitting next to one another in the Suburban she could feel that gloomy aura began to radiate from him once more. She didn't say anything. Not yet.

Her attraction to Sam had initially begun thanks to his cocky demeanor. He had come to the team so sure of himself and had this _'been there done that'_ attitude that she oddly found appealing. Normally an arrogant demeanor was severely off-putting to her, but inwardly she admired him for the fact he'd been a member of the elite Joint Task Force 2. They were the kind of high-speed ninjas whose actions were cloaked in secrecy—even their identities were classified. But there he was, Sam Braddock, wearing the cool pants and diving in with Team One of the Strategic Response Unit. Even when she'd asked why he gave up the sexy high-speed, low drag gig with JTF2 for the glory of urban policing he hadn't been very forthcoming with his reasons. After time and as their relationship developed he had admitted what drove him away from service.

Those reasons only endeared him more to her. He had grown tired of the convoluted nature of counter-insurgency warfare in Afghanistan, so troubled by the fact that he felt helpless to make a difference—to affect real change. It was that and so much more, but the catalyst was a tragedy that led to the death of his best friend by his own hand. As a profiler she thought back to that event and how it might have scarred him both emotionally and mentally. Every event that involved a man or woman in uniform became a special case for him—a mission he would risk his life for in order to achieve success as if he could atone for that terrible mistake so many years before.

It was tragic, but he had tempered it with such a great love for life that she found herself falling head over heels for a man who could suffer such things and still find a reason to smile each day. He had an inner passion that thrived when they were together and there was a lust for life there that could only be present in a man who so thoroughly understood what it was like to take life. But that brightness was clouded now—convoluted by a dark fury that brewed deep within. Failure was the word of the night and she had seen its impact on him before. Months prior when he'd taken the life of a young pregnant woman by mistake during a high risk call-out it had shaken him, but he recovered despite his mistake. Now, however, he blamed the team and she didn't know how to evaluate that. In his eyes Marcus Keisling was dead because Sergeant Parker hesitated to act and Ed Lane was idle in his duties as team leader. It was a dangerous precedent and Jules could see the all-important cohesion of the team crumbling under the weight of Sam's rage. She had to temper it.

Why did he become a police officer? There were many answers to that question, but she knew the most important one—Sam Braddock wanted to save lives. He wanted to be a good guy, the sort of person whose actions left little doubt in the minds of others. He was an unflinchingly moral man still struggling to find a place in a world where morality could sometimes be a hindrance. The easy answer to complex emotions that could often overcome one's sensibilities could also compromise one's morals and Sam was in danger of that now. It was evident to Jules that Sam wanted to take a life if for no other reason than to satisfy a deep felt need for vengeance.

But there was more to it as Jules surmised. It wasn't truly about vengeance, or justice. It was about righting a feeling of wrong. It was about correcting a mistake. It was about eliminating that gut-wrenching feeling of helplessness that pervaded well after the fact like a bad taste in one's mouth. But it was the easy answer and she needed to remind Sam of that. She had to remind Sam that he picked this job to save lives… not to take them.

Inside Sam uncharacteristically shed his body armor and outer garments, stripping down to his trousers and black undershirt with police stenciled in white on the back. He slung his gear, weapons, holster and kit bag into a pile just beyond the entrance of Jules' house. She looked at the pile with some derision then turned to see Sam draw a beer out of the fridge and crack it open. He walked over toward the sink and began fishing around in his pocket. He pulled out a set of dog tags and flipped on the water while Jules still watched in silence.

His thumb ran across the face of the aluminum once more, this time the blood had dried and only small flecks flaked off. With his freehand he took a sip of beer and then held the tag under the water that flowed from the faucet. He rubbed the tag repeatedly until it had been cleansed of the dried blood. He had to clean it. But not for his own sake.

Jules watched with quiet fascination. Sam acted with reverence, as if the deed was some sort of ritual that needed to be done immediately.

He turned off the water and faced Jules who watched him with a curious sort of concern evident in her doe-like brown eyes. He scooped up the beer bottle and took another long pull of its contents as he leaned against the counter.

"You need to shower and get cleaned up," Jules started. "There's blood all over your uniform. I'll wash it."

"It's fine," Sam muttered.

"It's not fine, Sam," Jules argued. "This isn't Afghanistan."

"I've noticed."

She sighed and shook her head trying to find the right words to deal with the state he was in. It was a prickly matter for her to approach. "Look, I know you were close with Constable Keisling."

"We weren't close. We were never close," Sam interrupted her. "We were rack mates. He helped me in recruit training. My boots were never shiny enough, my bed was never made properly and I couldn't march to save my life. He helped me—that's all. I haven't seen him in years and we barely talked."

There was regret there, it was as plain as day. Sam was an outstanding JTF2 operator and a superb sniper, but before all of that he was a struggling recruit who could barely piece together the military part of a military lifestyle. He could certainly run, do pushups and pulls ups, and hike for kilometers with ease, but it was the details he had problems with and that garnered some unwanted attention from the Master Corporals and Sergeants in charge of his platoon. He wasn't incompetent and he wasn't in dire need of help either, but Marcus Keisling helped everyone regardless of how bad they needed it. He wanted everyone to be at their best.

Sam had always meant to get in touch with him again, especially when he learned the Army veteran had left the service and joined the Toronto metropolitan police department. They were living in the same city and Keisling had a family—that much Sam knew, but he had never attempted to see the man or catch up with him. He'd never gone to have a beer with him, or planned a barbecue or anything of the sort. He'd become so concerned with getting into the SRU and from there he focused most of his excess time and energy on Jules Callaghan and the rest of his team, forsaking bygone friendships. Now he was never going to have a chance to tell Keisling what a good buddy he had really been.

"So what's the problem, Sam? We're all upset an officer died today, but why are you copping an attitude with Ed?" Jules own frustration surged forward in a rush and she almost regretted letting it loose—almost.

"You don't think there's something wrong with how things went down? A cop is dying inside and we waste our time trying to talk the guy responsible down instead of going in?"

"That's the job, Sam. You want Ed or the boss to apologize for that? We do everything we can to end a standoff peacefully," Jules argued in frustration.

"Yeah I get that, but what about when he shoots at us _after_ he's already shot a cop? At that point talk is off the table so we go in and get him," Sam shot back, rising from his casual lean against the countertop.

"And do what? We go in and do what, Sam?" Jules demanded, the sound of her voice began to rise. She could feel herself losing her temper, but did nothing to stop it. Sam's bullheaded mindset was aggravating her.

"Arrest him, or kill him. Whatever we need to do," Sam responded acerbically, as if the question were a stupid one.

"Kill him? Really?" she asked incredulously with her hands on her hips.

"It's what we do when we have to, isn't it?"

"You're not a killer, Sam."

"I'm not? That's what the Army trained me to do, Jules," he argued vehemently. "It's what I'm best at."

"Don't talk like that, Sam. You're just angry," Jules tone settled suddenly and the sound of her voice was layered with concern rather than the flash of anger that had resided there moments before.

"Yeah, whatever," Sam responded mordantly. "I'm going to shower."

The young SRU officer and Afghan veteran trudged past Jules and even sidestepped her attempt to waylay his escape from the discussion. Jules watched in frustration as the man stomped up the stairs and away from the one person he should have been able to open up to. She felt a pang of guilt and pain in the center of her chest as the thought of failure sank in. She let out a deep sigh and her eyes locked on the pile of discarded gear on the floor. She went to work scooping the stuff up, unsure of how to proceed with Sam Braddock.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day began with a brightness not felt by the members of the Strategic Response Unit. The sun cast vivid rays of balmy light down upon the Toronto skyline, invigorating a people well accustomed to frigid temperatures, but the members of Team One had been informed by their compatriots that their subject had not been located. There was no new information regarding the subject that had killed Constable Marcus Keisling—in fact they didn't have so much as an ID of their subject. Team Two and Four had scoured the neighborhoods surrounding the target site, but to no avail.

The circumstances of this particular case were stifling. Without anything to go on the Toronto Metropolitan Police could not do so much as issue an all-points bulletin on the subject. They had no physical description. The best they could do was warn people in the surrounding neighborhoods to be on the lookout for a suspicious man. They couldn't even estimate age, skin color, height, weight or anything for that matter which made the BOLO all the more insignificant. The police department and SRU had already received a multitude of calls from weary or paranoid citizens claiming to see the man responsible for the shooting the night before. But they were all dead ends.

"I've got an idea, boss," Spike announced suddenly as he rose from his swivel chair in the team's briefing room. All of Team One was assembled there brain storming to conjure up a way of locating the subject who had eluded them the night prior. "I'll be right back." Spike slinked out of the briefing room while every member watched with curiosity.

With no leads to go on (at least until Spike did his thing) Sergeant Parker opted to debrief the team on the previous night's events. They walked through the night step by step and talked about what went wrong, what went right and what they could have done better. Each team member put in their own two cents about what they saw and how it affected the outcome—Jules mentioned that had she had the thermal optics for her rifle she could have seen through the subject's ruse. Raf commented on how surprised he'd been at how fast things could escalate. Overall it had been a learning experience for him on many levels.

When it was Ed's turn he reiterated the importance of cohesion within the team and that orders should be obeyed once they are conveyed. It was clear to everyone assembled that he was referring to Sam's insubordination and repeated remarks regarding the execution of their actions. Ultimately Officer Keisling had died and there was a somberness that pervaded over everyone in the team because of that failure.

Ed's words didn't sit well with Sam. Initially he remained quiet and restive as he simply stirred uncomfortably in his seat. But as the team leader continued Sam felt anger rise within him and his face redden. He rose from his chair and walked out of the briefing room. He didn't stop, not even when he heard both Ed and Sergeant Parker question what he was doing.

He rounded the corner to head down the hall after escaping the briefing room, unsure of where he wanted to go. He knew he had to get out of the room, however, before he said something he might regret later. He added nothing to the debriefing.

Ed came steaming around the corner in hot pursuit of the fleeing Afghan veteran and called out to him. "Sam."

But Braddock didn't stop. He stomped on still fuming.

"Constable Braddock," Ed barked in the sort of command tone Sam had associated with Sergeants in the Army. Reluctantly he stopped. Ed caught up and squared up to the younger officer. "Do you have something to say?"

"Nothing to say… sir," Sam remarked derisively.

Ed narrowed his eyes on Sam. Their blue eyes met and the intensity in both sets was enough to set tinder into flames. He took a step forward, reducing the space between them. "This is _not_ going to fly, Sam."

"What?" Sam questioned peevishly.

"This moody silence. If you have something to say—say it." Ed kept his eyes locked on Sam, waiting for him to make mention of last night, for him to say something—anything. "Tell me what's going on, Sam."

"What's going on?" Sam asked rhetorically, his voice soaked in sarcasm. "You want to ask me that after what happened last night? You know what, Ed, we make a lot of mistakes around here and I get that. We all know I've made my share of them—some bigger than others—but here we are trying to bury our heads in the sand on this one. We want to pretend like what happened last night couldn't have been helped; like we got beat by a crafty subject who was too smart for us. We can't admit to our mistake."

"What do you think is going on in there, Sam?" Ed demanded, pointing a thumb toward the briefing room Sam had stormed out of.

"That?" Sam questioned irritably. "That's procedure. I want the boss to say it."

"Say what?"

"That he messed up. That Mark is dead now because of our hesitation—because of his hesitation," Sam insisted.

Ed nearly recoiled from the demand. "That's not going to happen."

"Then I got nothing to say," Sam responded with finality.

Ed sprang on Sam like a coiled snake. Sam was fast, JTF2 had required quick reflexes, but Ed's motion took him by surprise. The senior officer jammed his forearm into Sam's chest and pressed him against the wall. "What do you think is going on here?" he boiled forcefully. "You think last night is easy on us? You think the boss doesn't weigh every decision he makes like it's the end of the world? You think he doesn't brood over every bad decision or wrong action this takes off his direction?"

Sam gazed into Ed's penetrating stare. There was an intensity there that the junior officer rarely saw. Ed was patient, but there was always an edge there like the right combination of events could unleash a fury. Sam was dangerously close to unleashing that fury—Ed Lane was immensely protective of Greg Parker.

"Uh, guys," Spike's awkward interruption drew their attention. Both officers glanced over to see him standing there feeling as if he'd walked in on something he shouldn't have. "I've got something… thought the team might want to see…"

Ed gave an abrupt snort then turned his eyes back on Sam. "Get the team."

Team One assembled around Spike who had posted up at the dispatch desk nearby Winnie. It was evident he had discovered something because of his chipper demeanor. Spike was nearly always happy, but when he did something he or others would be proud of there was a spring in his step and a bubbliness that endeared him to just about everyone he'd ever met.

"It's not much," he said humbly. "But I was really upset over not being able to get vis inside the store to help you guys out last night. Well, it came to me that while we may not have gotten any footage of our subject on the interior cameras we might have gotten lucky with something outside." He punched a few keys and sat back as a video played on the screen.

"What's this?" Sergeant Parker asked.

"This is footage from the dashboard camera of the squad car that was parked outside the back entrance of the store," Spike explained with a big smile. They watched the dashboard camera's footage and could clearly see Sam, Ed and Raf stack outside the rear door of the building. The team made entry and disappeared within the dark interior of the Brathwaite's sporting goods store. After a few moments of inactivity they saw a figure carrying a large black bag slung over one shoulder go dashing out into the back parking lot at which point he disappeared from the camera's perspective. "And that is our subject fleeing the scene."

"Okay…" Raf muttered, unsure of what significance the video was. After all, the team knew how the subject got out.

"I cleaned up the image and was able to magnify the subject," Spike began to explain, sensing Raf's uncertainty. But the others clued in immediately on what Spike was doing.

"And you've managed to ID our subject based off the image," Parker finished.

"Not quite," Spike admitted with a raise of the hand. "Winnie is working on that."

All eyes were on Winnie as she ran the image through the Canadian Police Information Centre's identification database which included over 600,000 criminal records as well as a national repository for all finger and palm prints on file. The database was maintained and updated by the Criminal Records Information Management Services and possessed information on any convicted criminals or anyone with prints on file. This national database allowed for greater combatting of crime for local law enforcement as well as collaborative work between Canada's sister law enforcement agencies in other countries such as America's Federal Bureau of Investigation or Britain's Serious Organized Crime Agency. "This could take a while, guys," Winnie said with a frown.

"Where are we at with the search?" Ed questioned as he rounded his attention on Sergeant Parker.

"Uniforms are scouring the neighborhood, but with no ID or description they don't have much to go on," Parker replied.

"What about stolen cars?" Raf asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well if this guy escaped the area in a hurry he might have stolen a car and that could help narrow the search some," Raf elaborated. He knew the police had checked local buses in the area and called cab services to find out if anyone had used a cab in the area immediately after the events the night prior. Neither route had turned up a thing. Of course this route could be a dead end as well—the subject may have had his own vehicle to escape in or could have simply walked out. In fact, he might have still been in the neighborhood.

"Spike, call dispatch and find out if there have been any reports of stolen vehicles in or around the vicinity of last night's events. I'm only concerned with what was reported after the subject escaped Brathwaite's," Parker ordered.

After a few minutes on the phone Spike hung up the receiver and turned to the team. "A gun metal gray Jeep CJ7 was reported stolen three blocks south of Brathwaite's," Spike reported with another signature smile. The vehicle was a solid choice. Old Jeep Wranglers, CJ7s and YJ7s were notoriously easy to steal and very popular with car thieves thanks to a solid market to resell the parts. A thief could simply stick a file into the ignition, turn it and the engine would start.

"Let's get an APB out on that vehicle—hopefully that's our guy," Parker declared.

"Already done, boss," Spike retorted. He knew Parker was going to ask that very thing.

"Then the rest of us are going to get out on the road," Sergeant Parker announced loudly. "So as soon as this guy is spotted we can close in before he has a chance to get away."

With cautious optimism the team made their way to the gear locker to pull their equipment while Winnie continued to search the criminal database for an ID on their subject. From there they'd head to the SRU's garage where they would pair up and split off in their own respective Suburbans—Ed went with Spike, Raf with Sam, and Jules with Sergeant Parker. They'd each tour a different quadrant of Toronto, but their selections would be nearby the neighborhood Brathwaite's was located.


	12. Chapter 12

David Resnick awoke in the cramped front seat of a gun metal gray Jeep CJ7. He was parked in a parking lot in the southern edge of the East Don Parklands. The popular park for bikers was nestled between Leslie Street and Bayview Avenue and stretched from the Duncan Mills greenbelt in the south for seven kilometers to Duncan Creek Park in the north. Like much of the park areas in the city of Toronto the East Don was narrow, but fertile brush and foliage that existed on the periphery of the meandering Don River. From his uncomfortable position in the front seat of his aged Jeep David could see rays of sunlight pressing through the canvass of trees laid out before him.

There were children with their parents riding bikes of varying sizes. Two kids, a boy and a girl, playfully rode along on training wheels under the watchful gaze of their mother and father. David envied the family. It was a life he had wanted desperately since he left prison and now he knew it was one he would never have. He had to save Rachel, but even after he did that he knew he was headed to prison. He had shot a police officer and fired on more.

He glanced down at a worn picture in his shaking hand. He could feel tears stinging at his eyes and a lump build in his throat. In his palm Rachel's smiling face beamed up at him with the vibrancy he had loved so dearly. Thoughts of her now only brought pain to his heart. He keenly hoped she was alive and well—and cursed himself for allowing her to be taken. But he could have never imagined his old employer going to such lengths to get him back in the fold. He knew he had been a very important, if not vital part of the organization before he'd gone to jail, but he had made the mistake of believing they'd carried on without him after his sentencing. Now Rachel was paying for that foolishness.

He wiped away tears that began to form in the corner of his eyes and drew his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He punched in a few numbers and waited for an answer. The phone rang only a few times before someone's voice was heard.

"_Hello?"_ a rusty voice questioned half-suspiciously.

"Is he there?" David asked simply.

"_Who is this?" _the voice wanted to know.

"Put him on the phone. Now," David demanded with as much courage as he could muster. He waited and heard the sound of voices talking in the background.

"_David, you finally decided to call. I was beginning to get worried my offer was not being taken seriously, or perhaps that Rachel was not sufficient collateral," _a new voice stated. It was that same arrogant tone he'd come to know so well before his incarceration. The man spoke with the fluid elocution of a well-educated man that had decided a life in crime was a better option, or perhaps more easy than trying to make it in a white collar job he seemed best suited for. But then David knew this man—knew him for the violent heart that beat in his chest and the willingness to do harm to anyone that crossed him.

"Look, don't hurt her. I'll go back to work for you, okay?" David spoke into his cell phone clearly but attempted to keep his temper in check. There were still more park-goers wandering their way past his jeep and into the paths that led into the wooded area surrounding the Don River. David didn't want to draw any unwanted attention.

"_I'm glad for that, David,"_ the voice seemed relieved, as if all the stress of the last few days rested on his shoulders. _"And listen I want you to know I'll increase your rates. You can think of yourself more as a leader now and less of a lackey. Your time in prison really illustrated to me just how important you are to this business."_

"Where do I go to get Rachel?" David wanted to know. He skipped the information he didn't care about and certainly wasn't interested in the man's platitudes.

"_You know where,_" the voice replied simply, as if he'd grown bored with the conversation.

If he was so certain David would know there could only be one place. It was well away from where he was now, but in thirty minutes he could be there. "Are you going to be there?"

"_I hadn't thought to be. What reason would I present myself in such a place?" _he questioned suspiciously.

"I want assurances."

"_My word is not good enough for you, David? I am vexed by your lack of trust—I had thought we'd built a stronger relationship than this,"_ the voice replied superciliously. It was a game to him, it didn't matter that he was toying with people's lives or with David's happiness. David had to stifle the blood boiling in his veins.

"I don't trust the people that work for you. I want her there and I want you there too so we can work out the details of my employment. No boss, no employee," David specified resolutely.

There was a sigh on the other end of the line and the phone went silent for a few idle seconds. Then finally he spoke. _"Very well, David. I'll be there. These are the lengths I go to in order to have you back with our organization—you should be thankful."_

David glanced down at the duffel bag in the passenger side seat of his Jeep. Inside he had a Windham Weaponry SRC-CAN carbine, Mossberg 550 shotgun, a 9mm Browning Hi-Power pistol and plenty of ammunition. "Oh I am very thankful. I'm sorry you had to go to these lengths, but I'll make it up to you."

Raf piloted the SRU's tactical Suburban with a practiced hand, he'd spent enough years working patrol to know the streets of Toronto like the back of his hand—as if growing up there hadn't been enough of an experience to bestow such knowledge upon him.

They were headed north along Black Creek Drive, well west of Brathwaite's sporting goods store. They'd be parsing through thesection of the city that Ed had assigned. The objective was merely to be as proactive as the circumstances allowed. They would search for the Jeep CJ7, or they would wait for someone else to spot it and they'd go from there—at least until Winnie was able to identify their subject. The patrol quadrant stretched from Eglington Flats in the east all the way to Toronto Pearson International airport in the east and stretched from Humber Bay and the Gardiner Expressway in the south up to the Ontario 401 Express in the north.

Sam hadn't said a word since they left the station. His eyes remained fixated on the passing lanes and sunlit avenues of Toronto. He was tight-lipped, preferring to let his mood speak on his behalf. The silence disturbed Raf given that he was a genial man that enjoyed friendly banter. Sam had always willingly taken part in the back and forth exchanged between them both, but today was different.

"When I was a kid my best friend and I were riding bikes in the park," Raf said suddenly. His voice broke the lagging awkwardness that had pervaded thanks to the cloud of gloom that was floating about Sam Braddock. "It was my bike, but he was my best friend so I let him borrow it. His parents couldn't afford to buy him one. Well, he took off riding down this hill going real fast—just laughing and enjoying himself. I lost sight of him when he went riding off all over the park. When I finally caught up to him he was on the ground with a scraped up knee. My bike was on its side with a flat tire."

Sam listened to the start of the story and wondered what it was that Raf was getting at. He knew the rookie SRU member was always interested in conversation. If there was one thing he'd learned quickly about Constable Rafik Rousseau it was that he didn't like silence.

"I loved that bike, man. It had this sharp blue paint that shined extra bright when the sun hit it just right. It didn't look like a kid's bike. It had a big old basket on the front and one of those old style seats, but I didn't care because it was mine," Raf continued. "I loved that bike so much that when I saw it there on the ground with the flat tire and the paint all scraped up I just got angry. I didn't even care that my friend got hurt, or that it was an accident—I just got mad and yelled at my friend until he ran off.

"We didn't speak for weeks. Not until my dad noticed how upset I was and asked me where my friend was. I told him what happened and you know what he said to me?" Raf asked with a lick of his lips. He glanced over at Sam, but his compatriot didn't offer a response. "He said 'Son, anger is the worst emotion a man has to offer. It can bring out the worst in him and make him do terrible things'. Turns out dad knew more about that than I ever realized." Raf's voice trailed off as he thought about his protective father's actions and how a primal anger had landed him in prison.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Sam asked caustically.

"Nah man," Raf shook off Sam's edginess with a casual shrug and breezy smile. "I'm not saying anything you don't already know."

"_Boss,"_ Winnie's voice broke into their conversation via their earpieces. _"Looks like we have a solid hit from the database—our subject is David Resnick_. _He just completed an eight year stint in prison for drug trafficking, money laundering and possession of restricted firearms. Looks like he was a pretty heavy hitter in Carlo Riggotti's organization before he went away._"

"_You have an address, Winnie?"_ Sergeant Parker asked over the radio.

"_He lives in Woodbridge,_" Winnie began. _"76 Saddle Tree Crescent. There are already uniformed officer on the way."_

"_Winnie I want uniformed officers to cordon the street off, but I do not want them showing their presence anywhere near the subject's home. We don't want to spook our guy. Okay, listen up team,"_ Sergeant Parker began to address the team. _"We're going to converge on the subject's home and develop our plan once we're on sight." _

"_Boss if I may?"_ Ed chimed in.

"_Sure."_

"_Spike and I are at least an hour away and if this guy is half as crafty as he seems I don't think he'd go home after getting in a gunfight with the police," _Ed observed.

"_So what are you saying?"_

"_Spike and I continue to patrol our sector and see if any leads come from the APB on the stolen Jeep,"_ he stated. It was a decent idea, but there was no guarantee the stolen Jeep was even linked to the subject. _"Sam and Raf link up with you and Jules in Woodbridge. That should be plenty of support." _

Sergeant Parker considered the suggestion. The tactical plan always fell into Ed's court as the team leader, but Parker couldn't feel at least somewhat squeamish about the idea of approaching the subject's home without the full force of his team in tow. The subject had already shown himself to be willing to engage the police and was armed well enough to do so effectively. But he had worked with Ed for years and it was evident by the veteran's tone that he had a hunch and he wanted to pursue it. _"Okay. All right team you heard the word. Winnie—Raf, Sam, Jules and I are code four to Woodbridge. Spike and Ed stay on it out here."_

"_Roger that, Sarge."_

"_Copy that, boss."_

"_Solid copy."_

He just hoped he was making the right decision this time.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: Apologies for the long delay on an update. After getting out of the Marines I've been very busy with college applications as well as travel. I spent some time in San Diego, then Maui and Washington D.C. and am finally getting some free time to finish up this story. I hope I haven't lost anyone's attention and again my apologies. Enjoy! _

There was always a degree of nervousness when approaching a subject's home and although Sergeant Gregory Parker had prudently directed Toronto police to cordon off the street clandestinely he still couldn't help the nervous feeling that swirled in the pit of his stomach. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise as apprehension crept to the forefront of his consciousness.

David Resnick's home was as unassuming and quaint as any other found in suburban Toronto. It was a squat, two-story home that matched the other abodes lining the freshly repaved street. Sergeant Parker, Jules, Raf and Sam advanced cautiously up a concrete driveway too narrow to accommodate more than a single car.

Lilac bushes and creeping vine adorned the front portion of the house and Parker could smell the faint scent of the lilacs as they pressed past along the pathway leading to the front door. A single bay window to their left allowed sunlight to cascade into a dining room just beyond, but at the moment the curtains were drawn.

Police officers had talked to neighbors with as much discretion as possible and none had reported any sighting of David or any movement in the house over the preceding day, thus Sergeant Parker decided they would quickly make entry and attempt to subdue the subject before he had an opportunity to barricade himself. The subject had shown his willingness to fire on police as well as a wily skill that allowed him to escape the police before—Sergeant Parker wanted neither outcome this morning.

Raf stood stoically beside the double-door leading to the interior of the home. Rather than being armed with a pistol and shield like the previous day he was armed with a Diemaco C8 Carbine with a TA31 advance combat optical gunsight. He kept the carbine pressed tightly into his shoulder, anticipating entry into the subject's home. He felt anxious and wanted to hurry their entry inside—eager to finish this lengthy escapade and see justice done.

Sam was armed similarly, but his carbine was slung across his back as he diligently went to work on picking the lock to the front door. The idea now was to make entry and clear from room to room as quietly as possible. With any luck they would be able to enter silently and surprise their subject before he had any chance to get to a weapon—which they believed he was still in possession of.

Parker and Jules were behind Raf, armed with their MP5 submachine guns and patiently waiting for Sam Braddock to complete his task and get them inside. A moment like this was especially tense—as the team was exposed and easy to fire on. All it would take is for the subject to peak outside the front bay window and open fire; Parker and the rest of the team would have no cover to get behind.

With practiced speed Sam finished picking the lock. He eased back to his feet and yanked the sling of his C8 Carbine. He held the weapon steady with one hand on the pistol grip—the other gloved appendage rested lightly on the door handle. His intense blue eyes fixated on Raf who nervously awaited entry. The salty Afghan veteran's eyes looked expectantly at Raf for a go ahead signal.

Raf blinked repeatedly attempting to clear the sweat from his eyes. In the short time they had been standing outside the door nervousness had battled its way into Raf's mind and he began feeling jittery. Sweat had accumulated on his brow and then trickled into his eyes. He could feel the burning sensation the perspiration caused and the lids on his eyes flitter rapidly as he fought to clear his vision. Through clouded sight he could see Sam's impatient glare imploring him to signal that it was time for entry and Raf gave a nod and readied himself.

Sam tried the door knob with a delicate application of pressure. He felt the handle turn and then give way indicating he had successfully defeated the lock. He eased the door open, but every muscle in his body cringed when the hinges croaked. He swung the door open faster then and fell in line behind Raf as the new SRU officer made his entry inside. Jules and Sergeant Parker followed suit.

Raf still struggled to clear the sweat from his eyes and he could feel his muscles trembling. It was not fear that caused the physiological reaction, but an overabundance of adrenaline coursing through his veins. During much of their tactical training he had been told by the veteran SRU members that the first thing an operator lost during the onset of an adrenaline rush was fine motor skills. It was why they trained again and again—why repetition and muscle memory were the key to a successful tactical unit. His vision, still clouded by the sweat, peered over the top of his rifle optics. In close quarters he would not acquire his target via the TA31 ACOG as the optic magnified a target which was impractical inside the house. Instead he had been trained to look just over the top of his weapon, which was somewhat inaccurate, but would likely mean little in the close confines of this suburban Toronto home.

So much of his focus was on his vision and clearing the sweat from his eyes that as he entered the house and began to clear he did not notice the two steps that led to the living room left of the front door. He stumbled forward and dropped to a knee, but was able to stifle the clamor. He felt his heart rate skyrocket and then noticed a gloved hand gripping his shoulder tightly. He turned back slightly to see Sam Braddock gazing intensely forward as he held security—one hand kept his carbine oriented ahead of Raf and the other was on the rookie's shoulder as if to stabilize him. Raf saw the inquisitive glance that Sam shot him, as if he was saying "You okay? Take it easy". Raf gave a nod then dragged himself back to his feet in order to continue the clear.

The four officers split up into pairs so as to hasten the search and hopefully take David Resnick into custody before things escalated. They swept through the living room, dining room, a small den, the kitchen, hallways and closets, a guest room and accompanying bathroom and then headed upstairs to clear the final two bedrooms, another pair of bathrooms and several more closets. But there was no sign of their subject. They looked around their surroundings with obvious discontent, certain they had been thorough. They did not want David Resnick to sneak by them again. Yet the subject was nowhere to be found.

The group met on the landing at the top of the staircase. "So where is he?" Sam questioned impatiently.

"Not here," Jules exclaimed obviously with some frustration.

Sam let out a sigh and wiped the sweat from his brow. He glanced over at Raf whose chest was heaving beneath his body armor. The experience had been nerve-racking for him. Sam could scarcely remember the days when his nerves were so easily jittered, but he understood what the rookie officer was experiencing. He could see the relieved look in Raf's eyes as they darted back and forth between his fellow officers from beneath the rim of his helmet.

"_Sergeant Parker, Sergeant Parker,"_ a garbled voice questioned over the team's earpieces. The muffled sound of rotor blades whirling could be heard in the background. _"Anyone from SRU Team One this is Air-Mobile, do you read?"_

The call was coming in from one of the department's helicopter units that patrolled the skies over Toronto. "Air-Mobile this is Parker of Team One." Parker stepped away from the other officer's, his finger gently pressed his earpiece so he could hear more clearly.

_"Roger, Parker, wanted to inform you that it looks like we might have a tally on your APB—gun-metal gray Jeep CJ7 headed east on Sheppard Avenue—nearest cross street is Victoria Park Avenue,"_ the pilot of Air-Mobile explained.

_"Boss, we're on Lawrence now—not too far off,"_ Ed chimed in. He and Spike had been patrolling a sector around Humbervale and Edenbridge, Humber Valley area. The subject's vehicle was around twenty five kilometers away from their position, which was markedly closer than the rest of Team One. _"If Mobile can keep eyes on the subject and walk us on we'll be there soon."_ With traffic it would be a challenge to get to the subject's position in anything less than fifteen minutes, even if they took the freeway.

"Okay, Ed, get on it. Sam and Raf get out there and provide support for Ed and Spike," Parker ordered calmly as he whirled around to address the other three officers in his team. "Jules you and I are going to search this place and see if we can get any background on our subject and find what or why he is doing what he's doing."

Jules nodded and already set herself to the assigned task.

"Copy that," Sam responded. He didn't need to be told twice and without wasting a second he slung his carbine and trotted down the staircase followed closely by Raf. They bolted out the front door and sprinted off toward their Suburban.

Ed's SRU Suburban weaved in and out of traffic, police lights and sirens blaring, as he and Spike headed east down Lawrence Avenue and then hooked a left heading north along Black Creek Drive. Their target was the Ontario 401 Express, which would hopefully allow them the most expedient means of catching up with their subject. Given the hour of the day there was little likelihood of traffic being high, but Ed still had to be careful as he navigated his way through the somewhat congested six-lane road.

"Whoa, whoa, okay—easy," Spike urged as Ed aggressively changed lanes and then narrowly averted rear-ending a small Subaru Outback that braked suddenly when the driver noticed flashing police lights behind him. "We can't arrest this guy if we're dead."

No one mentioned, or even considered that the CJ7 could be a bad lead and that the driver may not even be their subject. But it was the only thing they had to go on at the moment and each of them moved with a sense of hopeful purpose. "I'm not letting this guy get away, Spike," Ed declared resolutely as he tightly gripped the steering wheel. His eyes appeared very much the hunter as he wildly lurched through traffic and then headed onto the 401 Express- accelerating as he joined the traffic there. Vehicle's slid aside as the driver's became aware of the SRU's lights and sirens which resonated loudly even as the Vortec 5.3 liter V8 engine roared with Ed's foot on the pedal as he tried to harness every bit of the car's three hundred and twenty horsepower.

Spike wasn't so sure if he was determined to prevent the subject's escape or more concerned with racing Sam to the finish line. He had voiced his concern over Braddock's mindset earlier in the car ride and now as Spike watched him scurry through traffic almost haphazardly, as if he was racing on the Sunset Speedway, he couldn't help but notice a determination that seemed oddly akin to Ed's appearance when he was behind a scope. That same degree of cold and measured resolve was clearly present.

"Okay… Just get us there in one piece," Spike commented uneasily just as he was throttled back into his seat by another one of Ed's aggressive driving techniques. With every car passed he seemed to cower or cringe in the front seat as if at any moment their Suburban would explode into a horrendous ball of fire.

Despite the light traffic Ed was still managing to make the trip a harrowing adventure, but then he was motivated to see this through to the end- if not for the sake of protecting the subject from Sam Braddock, then at least for Constable Marcus Keisling's family.


	14. Chapter 14

"There!" Ed called out in as excited voice as Spike had ever heard. "He's right there!" Spike leaned over toward the center of the truck's interior to get a better look and sure enough several cars ahead of them on Sheppard Avenue the Jeep was putting along as mildly as any citizen on the streets that day. Ed had long since turned out the sirens and extinguished the lights that betrayed their status as police officers. The benefit to the SRU's Suburbans was that everything onboard was low-profile allowing the team to approach a subject stealthily.

They had just passed Brimley Road and were still headed east. "So what now?" Spike questioned.

"We stay on him until we get additional support," Ed replied firmly. They were cautiously coasting several cars behind the Jeep CJ7 that Resnick allegedly drove. It was a tough choice to make given that Ed was keen on not letting the subject escape, but he and Spike would need support if they hoped to contain a heavily armed man willing to shoot at police officers. The last thing he needed was a confrontation with Resnick on the busy streets of Agincourt. It was nearly time for lunch and the streets got more crowded as citizens were on their way to lunch or an afternoon viewing at the movies.

"_Boss, Raf and I are still thirty minutes out—maybe more,"_ Sam spoke over the radio. _"If Mobile can pick us up we can be in the area much faster."_ Sam was referring to the police helicopter currently overhead watching the CJ7.

"I don't like it, boss," Ed immediately argued. "They won't do us much good in a helicopter." That was a fair argument, but the truth of the matter was that Ed did not want Sam involved at this point. However, he had limited options. Uniformed police would not be equipped or well-trained enough to handle this situation and Jules and Greg were at the subject's home gathering amplifying information on him. That left only Sam and Raf as support so Ed's wishes were becoming increasingly unrealistic.

"_Perform a pit maneuver to stop the subject's vehicle and force him to dismount, we can be on the ground in order to apprehend,"_ Sam argued.

"And then what? He gets out of his truck and starts a gunfight in the middle of the street?" Ed shot back.

"_Eddie, we need an action plan and Sam is right—they're too far away to provide support. I don't want this guy slipping free,"_ Sergeant Parker interrupted their argument. _"Mobile go ahead and break pursuit of subject's vehicle and pick up Officer Braddock and Officer Rousseau. Ed, you've got until they're on station to come up with something." _

"_Copy that, Air-Mobile is on route to RV with Braddock and Rousseau," _chirped the helicopter pilot.

"_I've got a suitable LZ northwest of the train yard in Concord—just look for our cruiser. I'll have the lights on and we'll be centered in the middle of a grass field east of Creditstone Road,"_ Sam instructed the pilot, as if he'd already mapped the plan out.

"_Roger that, see you in a few,"_ the pilot acknowledged.

Ed shook his head ruefully, clearly defeated in his attempt to keep Sam out of the situation and yet any alternative was not an option either. His mind was racing now as he attempted to concoct a plan that would minimize the risk to the public and his team, but that would also keep their subject alive. Sam's option could hardly be considered. If Ed spun the subject out and forced him from his vehicle he could come out guns blazing forcing Spike and Ed to engage him with their own weapons. Sam and Raf could hardly be counted on to join the fight in any truly meaningful sense. The end result of such a maneuver meant they'd have a firefight in the midst of Toronto's busy streets. Countless civilians could be harmed – Ed wasn't about to sanction that sort of gambit.

"What do you think Spike?" Ed asked suddenly, turning to his fellow SRU member.

Spike was somewhat unsettled by the query. It was a rare moment when Ed Lane didn't have a well thought out direct action plan that he could rattle off without a second of hesitation. "Well," he began, unsure of how to respond. "Why don't we just stay on him and see where he goes? He's going to stop eventually and with Sam and Raf onboard Mobile they should conceivably be able to land somewhere nearby to provide immediate support."

Ed Lane cracked a smile, surprised by Spike's sudden tactically sound idea. It was good, he liked it. It minimized risk and kept Sam airborne and out of the fight. With any luck the subject would stop somewhere isolated and allow the team to regroup and either talk him out of wherever he ended up or go in and get him. Either way it would allow Ed to have a tighter grip on Sam's reins. "Solid plan, Spike," Ed praised as he continued to trail Resnick's alleged vehicle.

"Hey, I _can_ do more than bombs and computers," Spike responded with his own smile, proud that his plan had been so readily accepted by Team One's tactical leader.

Ed was radioing the information to Air-Mobile and Sergeant Parker when he began to realize that the CJ7 was speeding up. His eyes squinted, attempting to see if the car was indeed increasing its pace. Sure enough the driver was soon well over the speed limit.

"What's he doing?" Spike asked.

"I think he might have made us," Ed answered, his attention still locked on the Jeep. There were only two cars between the SRU Suburban and the subject's alleged vehicle. Suddenly Ed realized something. "He might recognize the truck. We were parked outside the Store the whole night—he had to have gotten a good look at what we were driving."

"Uh-oh."

"Damn it!" Ed cursed as his closed fist hammered the steering wheel. Resnick's Jeep sped up even more and the question regarding whether or not he'd seen the police tail on him was confirmed when he ran a red light and narrowly avoided several cars crossing the intersection of Sheppard Avenue and Washburn Way. They were now firmly within a residential neighborhood.

Ed flipped on the lights and sirens of his Suburban and roared through the intersection in pursuit of the subject. Ed was now certain David Resnick was inside the old Jeep CJ7 and this was as close as any of them had been since his escape the previous night.

"We've been compromised," Ed announced into his radio. "Subject has accelerated and is driving dangerously east on Sheppard avenue—we're in pursuit."

_"Get him isolated, Eddie,"_ Sergeant Parker instructed him via the radio. _"I don't want things escalating in that neighborhood."_

"Copy that, boss," Ed replied through grit teeth as he deftly avoided family sedans, sports utility vehicles and station wagons littering Sheppard Avenue.

Spike was pressed into his seat as if sitting in the backseat of a jet fighter's cockpit. He clutched the handle positioned over the passenger window, hanging on for dear life.

_"Rouge Park,"_ Sam's voice could be heard over Ed's headset. The din of the chopper's rotor wash was evident; indicating to Ed that Sam and Raf had been picked up by Mobile and were now airborne. _"Pit him in Rouge Park—it's not far ahead. We can isolate him there."_

But it wasn't that simple. Rouge Park was forty square kilometers and one of Toronto's most famous parks. Historic farms, wetlands, ancient trees, and dozens of trails that meandered throughout it all made it a frequent location for tourists and citizens alike. The trails would likely be filled with joggers, couples on walks or hiking, or bikers. The meadows and green belts that pervaded throughout the area would have people out for a leisurely stroll, picnicking or sunbathing. It was not an option in Ed's opinion. "Absolutely not—too many civilians."

"_What's the alternative? A high speed chase into Pickering? Are we going to chase him east until we're swimming in the Atlantic?"_ Sam challenged. _"There are plenty of quiet areas in that park, even on a busy day. We'll set down ahead of him and cut off his egress."_

Ed clenched his jaw tightly, willing himself to remain cool against Sam's grating attitude. It irked Ed even more because ultimately Sam was right. The pursuit, if it didn't end soon, would spill over into the small communities east of Toronto and the SRU would run into jurisdictional issues. Likewise the police agencies in the nearby towns were not equipped to handle the situation and the small thoroughfares running through the tiny towns would create a dangerous bottleneck that could lead to tragic consequences if a violent gunman were to feel he was trapped there.

"What are we doing?" Spike asked as he felt the Suburban accelerate. The distance between the SRU truck and the vehicle they were pursuing began to shrink.

"We're putting an end to this," Ed declared coolly.

Well ahead of them there was a curve along Sheppard Avenue. So far they had been travelling along a straight street with no turns or sharp curves, but that would change soon and both cars were now traveling at a high rate of speed. The curve would afford an opportunity for Ed, who was familiar enough to know of a parking lot ahead on the north side of the Avenue that would likely be empty at the moment. He hoped to force Resnick into the parking lot and isolate him—thus ending the pursuit before it went badly.

They raced through several intersections barely avoiding civilians driving leisurely in their personal vehicles. Ed could hear the sound of outraged horns blaring in their wake even over the sound of his wailing sirens. Up ahead he could see the fast approaching curve in the road. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and sped up until he was alongside Resnick's Jeep. They raced past Meadowvale Road—they were running out of time.

Ed slackened some of his speed and took up a position on the rear right corner of the subject's vehicle. He deftly maneuvered the much heavier Suburban toward the Jeep. The front left bumper of the SRU truck struck the rear right corner of Resnick's Jeep gingerly, but the force was enough to cause Resnick's vehicle to fishtail. Its rear end slid out toward the left hand side of the road. Oncoming vehicles swerved to avoid the Jeep which was clearly out of control. The high speed coupled with the Jeep's high center of gravity caused it to flip on its side and tumble until it was sliding across the street on its rooftop. It came to a halt on the curbside amidst sparks and a cloud of dust. It was just outside the parking lot Ed had hoped to contain the subject in.

Ed slammed on the brakes and heard the tires squeal as his own truck slid along for another hundred meters or so. A cloud of white smoke swirled up from behind the Suburban. He slipped the truck into reverse and accelerated backward so that he could square up to Resnick's wrecked vehicle. By now passing traffic had come to a halt and the people simply watched in wonder at the scene that was unfolding before them. Ed stopped the SRU vehicle and whipped open his door and slung his submachine gun in a single hasty motion. Spike was not far behind, but Resnick was already out of the Jeep and fleeing north beyond a red brick building the parking lot serviced—it was a church and Ed counted himself lucky that there were no sermons in session now.

"Subject is on foot headed North past the Chinese Alliance Church," Ed reported over the radio. He could already hear the sirens of other police cruisers heading in his direction to assist the duo from Team One. His eyes strained beyond the empty parking lot which was lined with lush green grass. He could see a cluster of trees to his North and watched as Resnick disappeared into their midst. He halted his pursuit and raced back to the Suburban. "Spike!"

Officer Scarlatti also stopped, albeit confusedly and then returned to Ed's side as the senior officer yanked open the door on the Suburban. He dragged out the case for his Remington 700 and speedily opened it up. He loaded it and then slung the rifle across his back. "Get the microphone," he instructed Spike—referring the parabolic microphone that would allow them to listen to the amplified sounds of their surroundings. Besides Ed's expertly trained hawk eyes it would be the single greatest tool for them in tracking Resnick through Rouge Park.

"Got it," Spike replied and began digging into the pile of gear in the back of the SRU Suburban just as Ed stepped out of his way.

"Sam, we're pursuing the subject north into some heavily wooded areas—see if you can find a place to set down ahead of his egress route so we can hem him in," Ed ordered over the radio. His reservations about Sam's attitude and what he might do to the subject were shelved now. His more immediate concern was bottling up the subject before he had the opportunity to hurt any innocents present in the park.

"_On it,"_ Sam acknowledged.

Ed's icy blue eyes turned to Spike who adjusted the straps on his backpack and looked to the team leader expectantly. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Spike affirmed. With a nod the two sprinted off to the North in pursuit of a violent gunman who was presumably still well armed.


	15. Chapter 15

Sam leaned out the right side door of the Eurocopter EC120 Colibri- which was in fact operated by the York Regional Police Air Support Unit—in order to get a better look at the ground below. He could see Ed and Spike's abandoned police Suburban a mere twenty meters away from the wrecked gunmetal gray Jeep CJ7. Police cruisers had already arrived and constables were swarming all over the Jeep and the area in order to secure any weapons in the vehicle and cordon off the scene. Some of the civilians were gazing up at the helicopter that hovered over the top of them.

"Take us north," Sam instructed the pilot.

He acknowledged and the nose of the aircraft dipped and sped forward over the boughs of the mighty trees down below. Somewhere down there Ed and Spike were chasing after David Resnick—a man Sam very much wanted to find first.

"You see anything?" Raf shouted across to Sam over the engine sound of the helicopter. The Colibri utilized a Fenestron tail rotor design that made it one of the quietest helicopters in the world, but despite that it was still loud inside the cabin, especially with the doors open.

"No. Nothing," Sam admitted. He lifted his carbine into his shoulder and gazed down at the treetops through the combat optic mounted on his C8.

"_We're in pursuit on foot,"_ Ed Lane reported between gasps of air over the radio. It was evident they were on the run. _"Sam, subject is moving north approximately eighty to one hundred meters to our direct front. Have the bird put you on the deck ahead of him, cut him off."_

Sam acknowledged the report. "Copy that." He quickly readied himself to rappel down to the ground once the pilot had found a suitable place to insert them, which did not take long. He dangled over the ski on the side of Colibri and glanced over at Raf who was similarly positioned. "You ready?"

Raf nodded, confirming he was prepared.

"Ed, we're going in," Sam exclaimed into his radio.

"_Good to go, Sam. Are you with me on this?" _Ed probed suspiciously.

Sam considered his response and was reluctant to answer. "I'm with you."

"_Good"._

Sam turned his attention back to his partner. "Let's go." And he leapt backward from the skid of the aircraft and let gravity carry him down to the ground. He felt very much the soldier again in that moment—inserting into a dangerous situation from a helicopter—excitement mingled with the anger that was still alive inside him.

When they were on the ground they traded off packing gear and holding security, leery of Resnick's potential presence. Sam impatiently rushed Raf along, urging him to move faster so they could pursue the subject. Sam knew Ed was just as determined to catch up to David Resnick as he was, but for entirely different reasons and he didn't want Raf slowing him down.

With their gear packed they set off to the south hoping to squeeze Resnick between both advancing parties and with any luck Sam would spot the subject first. No doubt Resnick would open fire on them as soon as he had the opportunity giving Sam ample cause to return fire and end this entire absurd procession.

Moments later, just as the pair had reached a tree line and began their descent along a gentle, grassy slope they heard the distant report of gunfire. No doubt Resnick was shooting at Ed and Spike, or worse, civilians. For a moment Sam held his breath yet continued toward the sound of chaos that lay ahead.

"_Sam, we're taking fire. Subject is somewhere to our north,"_ Ed reported over the radio. Sam could hear the snap of bullet impacts in the background. Resnick's shots were accurate.

Sam continued to close in on the sound of gunfire. It reminded him so much of Afghanistan. There had been so many times when an adjacent friendly unit would come under fire and Sam and his team would have to maneuver on the enemy in order to save their fellow soldiers—who were often ambushed in open fields with little cover. Then, as now, it was crucial to close on the enemy and outflank him in order to save the lives of your teammates. Sam could still hear the reports from the subject's rifle each time he pulled the trigger and with every step he took he was getting closer.

He and Raf stomped through a shallow creek that ran its course with the same tranquility as any other day. The momentary stillness in the water's surface was shattered only for an instant as the heavy rubber soles of Raf and Sam's boots plodded across to the opposite side. Sam found himself crawling all over a rocky outcrop that rose to prominence on the far side of the tiny creek. He could hear the gunfire now—it was much closer. His heart rate was elevated but under control. He fought the giddiness inside him, anxious to have Resnick in his sights..

As he reached the crest of the slope he had clamored up he saw a muzzle flash within some brambles and foliage not far off. The telltale signs were there. Dirt kicked up from the gunshots each time Resnick fired and Sam knew he had him. He took up a firing position on a nearby rock—the granite smoothed to perfection over thousands of years of erosion. "I've got him," Sam stated softly. "I've got the solution."

Resnick fired several more shots, likely aimed at either Spike or Ed. But Sam could not see either of them. Only the subject was visible through the magnified view of Sam's optic. He flicked his weapon off safe. "Ed, permission to fire."

"_Negative. Do not fire. I say again, do not fire,"_ Ed commanded over the net. _"We've got plenty of cover down here. We are in no danger. Repeat, do not fire." _

It seemed an odd choice of words to Raf as the thought of being under fire—cover or no cover—hardly equated to no danger. Still, Ed was a veteran and he knew when to accept a reasonable degree of risk. But those thoughts were shattered when rounds skittered into the rock which Sam was using as an aiming platform. Raf had taken a knee beside the sniper, but hadn't taken much time to conceal himself from the shooter who must have spotted them. The ear-splitting snaps of each impact was enough to send Raf diving for cover, but the pair were in an elevated position atop a pile of smooth granite boulders. Raf's dive sent him over the side of the pile and he dropped a considerable distance before his heavily weighted form crashed into the ground below. He felt the air violently evacuate his lungs and struggled to breath. His arm and shoulder, which had taken the brunt of his landing, were in pain. But he was more concerned with breathing as he gasped for air. From above he heard Sam shooting.

David Resnick had fired on Raf and then taken cover from the newly discovered threat. Even as Sam fired off some rounds at his position he knew he was scarcely capable of hitting him. He cursed Raf for the rookie mistake of not taking better care of concealing himself. He and Resnick traded a handful of shots, but Sam was no closer to hitting his mark.

"_Cease fire! Cease fire, Sam!" _Ed demanded over the radio—certain it was Braddock firing and not Raf. But Sam did not respond.

Instead the officer sighted in through his ACOG and fired another pair of rounds in Resnick's direction. They smashed harmlessly into a tree which he sheltered behind. Sam could see the spray of bark from the bullets impact. A second later Resnick bolted from behind the tree trunk heading off in the opposite direction. Sam's view was obstructed by the boughs and branches of the wooded area below. He heaved himself up to his feet and scrambled down the rock pile in hot pursuit, oblivious of Raf's condition. "He's moving. I'm after him!" Sam yelled into his radio as he dashed after the active shooter.

"_Sam, what's your twenty?"_ Ed commanded impatiently as he and Spike gazed through the thick brambles that offered a shooter a thousand different positions to hide and ambush would-be pursuers. _"Where are you, Sam?"_

"I'm on him," Sam told his team leader cryptically as he smashed through bushes and low hanging branches. One such branch scraped across his unprotected face, drawing blood from his cheek, but he was too focused on his prey now. He was after Resnick and if there was one thing he the Army taught him well it was stalking his prey.

Ed peered through the thickly forested area ahead struggling to find any signs of Resnick, Sam or Raf but it was no use. He glanced over at Spike. "What do you hear?"

Spike raised the parabolic microphone and listened intently. "I hear movement. Northeast. Sounds like running. I don't know who it is, though," he added unnecessarily.

There were a million different variables now. The movement could be Resnick, or the two SRU officers pursuing him—or maybe a civilian nearby had heard the gunfire and was now fleeing the area. Ed found himself increasingly agitated by the circumstances. "Sam, this is Ed, I need your location? What direction are you headed and do you have eyes on the subject?" he questioned, doing his best to secure his irritation.

"_I'm on foot. Not far behind Resnick,"_ was all Sam said. He was being deliberately ambiguous in order to get a lead on Spike and Ed. He was after Resnick and he was going to do more than detain him.

"Listen to me, I don't care about your past and I don't care about what this man has done. We have rules, we have protocol and you had better follow that protocol Constable—or I guarantee you there will not be a place for you on this team. Do you understand me, Officer Braddock?" Ed Lane threatened in the most menacing voice he could muster. But there was no response. He cursed out loud and hefted his Remington 700 SPS. "We need to find them, Spike."

Meanwhile Sam was hot on the heels of David Resnick. As he stalked his way through the wooded vegetation of Rouge Park he came across a trail of blood. It wasn't much, but it indicated to Sam that he had hit the subject. Perhaps it would slow his escape and it would certainly give the talented sniper a means of finding the man.

The trail led through brush and over mossy boulders and fallen trees infested with termites. Occasionally Sam would lose sight of it, but careful diligence and a reliance on his combat hunter training soon allowed him to pick up the trail once again. The subject, his prey, had cut back across the small creek Sam had crossed earlier and followed its bank further north until it disappeared into a tunnel that carved its way beneath a large, grassy hillock saturated with stalwart pines and grand saplings. Sam could see the fresh boot marks in the soft, muddied bank of the creek. Every few feet a droplet of blood confirmed he was heading in the right direction. He peered into the darkness of the lengthy tunnel that ran beneath the hill above. His target was inside, but was he on the run or was he lying in wait so that he could ambush his pursuers?

He didn't have any night vision device to help him see and while he advanced into the tunnel and his eyes adjusted to the darkness his form would be silhouetted by the tunnel opening behind him, making it easy for Resnick to spot his approach. Likewise a flashlight would also alert Resnick to Sam's presence. His lip curled in ire as the thought of Resnick escaping entered the forefront of his thoughts. He knelt down beside the tunnel entrance and peered inside, hoping his eyes would adjust to the darkness quickly. But his Army training told him otherwise, it would take almost thirty minutes for his eyes to completely adjust to the change in lighting.

He took a breath, hefted his C8 carbine, assumed a combat stance and slowly headed into the darkness—his weapon at the ready.


	16. Chapter 16

"Boss, take a look at this," Jules Callaghan beckoned to Sergeant Gregory Parker. The pair was sifting through David Resnick's things in his suburban home in search of information that would shed more light on their subject. So far everything had appeared as normal as anyone would expect in a suburban neighborhood in Toronto.

"What have you got?" Parker inquired, making his way across the bedroom to see what Jules was referring to.

She held out a picture frame that David Resnick and an unidentified brown haired woman stood embracing one another in front of a rather lavish silver sculpture that jutted out over a large pond and fountains where water jetted up into the sunny afternoon sky. Fixed atop the silver structure appeared to be a matching figure that resembled an atom. Parker recognized it—the Rosehill Statue located in David A Balfour Park. It had been built during Canada's centennial in 1967, but beyond that he didn't know much beside the fact that it had been a place he'd taken Dean's mother long before they ever married. The happiness exhibited by Resnick and the woman brought back bittersweet memories, but he needed to focus. "We need to figure out who this is."

Jules checked the closet and found women's clothes. "Looks like they live together."

"Are you sure?" Parker asked with some reservation. Jules had come to that conclusion rather quickly.

"Hang on," she urged as she walked into the bathroom. A moment later and after the sound of a few drawers and cabinets opening and closing Jules' voice spoke up once more. "Yep, they live together." She stepped back into the room and smiled as if expecting an apology from her boss—he should know better than to question her on such matters.

"Okay, so where is she? And who is she?" Parker queried.

Now there was a greater level of concern for Parker and Jules. It started to sound more like a potential homicide which meant a citizen could be dead or in danger. The two veteran officers had dealt with situations like this often enough—even as patrol officers. Domestic arguments often escalated into violence and crimes of passion. Could that have happened here? What was the fate of the woman? There were still pieces that didn't add up, leaving Parker feeling puzzled. If he did hurt the woman why would he go and rob a sporting goods store?

Jules shrugged. Then her eyes brightened as if something had suddenly occurred to her. "Maybe there's mail."

"I love it when you're one step ahead of me, Officer Callaghan," Sergeant Parker commented as the pair headed downstairs to search for any mail that might be addressed to a woman so they could put a name to the face they had seen. "Just don't make a habit of it."

…..

Ed rushed across the shaded forest grounds, desperate now to find Sam before he made a colossal mistake that could ruin his career and possibly even his life. His Remington 700 SPS was now slung across his back and he clenched only his Glock in hand—confident that the subject was fleeing now. He and Officer Scarlatti had been joined by Raf who shambled down the hillside he and Sam had been perched upon in a disheveled mess. He looked visibly shaken, but offered no words to the veteran officers when he saw them.

The trio moved with the sort of motivated intensity that could only be brought on by a sincere concern for their teammate. It didn't take long for Ed Lane to pick up the same trail of blood that Sam had noticed earlier. He may not have been a soldier or Afghan veteran, but his skills were just as polished. He halted abruptly and drank in the sights and sounds around him. He looked for any clues that would help him shorten the chase. If he could predict where the subject was fleeing perhaps he could beat Sam to the punch. The scene around him was idyllic. Birds chirped away feverishly, oblivious of the drama that unfolded beneath them and the gentle sound of a small stream winding its way across the park grounds added to the effect. It was the sort of place he might take Sophie for a walk or attempt to drag Clark out to enjoy the great outdoors. Instead he was desperately racing to stop a cop from killing a subject that was responsible for the death of one of Toronto's own. It certainly wasn't the sort of thing the park was intended for.

They continued their search and in short time arrived at the arroyo Sam had recently followed. The three of them headed north quickly alongside the shallow creek. In the distance, beyond the boughs of trees that stretched gracefully into the midday sun they could see the sudden rise of a slope covered with mossy boulders and fallen leaves from autumns long since passed. At its base the creek meandered into a dark abyss they could scarcely see into. They could see footprints in the damp banks alongside the creek; Ed took a knee and upon closer inspection he immediately noted there were two different sets. It didn't take much detective work to figure out who they belonged to.

"They're inside," Ed remarked, glancing up from his study of the boot marks.

"In there?" Spike questioned with a cartoonish gulp as if the prospect of going into a dark hole in the ground frightened him.

Ed pressed his finger against the earpiece of his radio set. "Braddock," he chirped into the throat microphone. "Braddock this is Ed—what's your twenty?" He waited several moments for a response; all the while his hawk-like eyes remained fixated down the long axis of the tunnel, straining to see what lay ahead.

"We going in there?" Raf questioned impatiently. He flexed his fingers on the pistol grip of his C8 carbine, anxious to reunite with Officer Braddock. Inwardly he was agitated by his mistake and wondered now if Ed blamed him for the fact that Sam was now alone inside a dark tunnel with a heavily armed gunman.

"Hang on," Ed said evenly. His eyes narrowed as they labored to see into the murky darkness ahead. Suddenly he snapped his Glock 17 up and using the pressure pad on the side ignited the high-power tactical flashlight affixed beneath the barrel of the nine millimeter pistol.

The suddenness of Ed's hasty action startled both Raf and Spike, but they were professional enough to know the reason behind it. They also hefted their personal weapons and aimed into the tunnel.

The white light of Ed's flashlight beamed into the dark space the creek disappeared within. Shadows danced across the uneven surfaces along the walls of the tunnel and deep within, where the light was dimmest, they could see what appeared to be a person approaching.

"Let's see some hands!" Ed barked seriously. He was still kneeling as he aimed his pistol down the length of the tunnel. Raf and Spike had both taken the opportunity to move forward and use either side of the tunnel entrance as cover while they aimed in on the approaching figure.

There was no reply from the dark silhouette that still lurched toward them, as if it were struggling with some unseen burden. "I said let me see some hands!" Ed repeated his command. "Get your hands up now!"

"It's okay," they heard a familiar voice announce. "It's okay." It was Sam.

"Braddock, what's going on?" Ed demanded. "Where's the subject?"

"It's okay, I got him," Sam assured him.

_Got him?_ What did that mean? What was he saying? Ed looked deeper into the tunnel but was still having problems identifying Sam. Cautiously, he rose to his feet and advanced steadily toward the tunnel entrance in order to shine more light into the recesses beyond. Then, to his relief, a picture of what approached came into view.

Sam tottered forward pristine and in good health. His face, streaked with a sheen of sweat, looked to Ed with a degree of professional embarrassment and yet his eyes reassured the team leader—Sam Braddock had done the right thing. Clutched tightly in Sam's vice like grip was a bleeding David Resnick. His face was awash with anguish as he limped forward at Sam's urging. His hands were restrained behind his back and Ed could see that the wound to his leg had already been treated with a pressure dressing from Sam's personal first aid kit.

The two of them edged out of the tunnel and Sam greeted his team with nods of acknowledgement.

"Ya got him," Spike beamed. He slapped Sam on the back.

"I got him," Sam replied solemnly.

"He needs medical attention," Ed stated, glancing at Resnick's leg wound. His eyes returned to meet Sam's own apologetic gaze, which reached out from beneath the rim of Sam's helmet. But that was a topic best saved for later. Ed spoke into his radio, "Winnie, inform all units subject is in custody. We're going to walk him out and need EMS on standby to treat a gunshot wound to the subject's left thigh."

"_Copy that. I'll let them know,"_ Winnie told him via the radio. _"Awesome job, guys."_

Spike and Raf took up a position surrounding the subject and the officer escorting him as they prepared to leave the shaded eaves of the park and head back toward the Chinese Alliance Church and Sheppard Avenue.

Sam edged past Ed, still trundling along the subject. He stopped when Ed addressed him. "You okay?" Ed asked him sincerely enough. It was evident he was still cross with the younger officer.

"I am," Sam assured him with a backward glance.

Ed was still staring into the tunnel. "Good."


End file.
